Soulless
by MarginalMary
Summary: Yori struggles to regain her equilibrium after Yuuki leaves her behind, but Aidou's presence threatens to drag her further into Night. A human's choice, a vampire's secret, and a guardian's brand - back to the start in the house of always night. Revised
1. Prologue: The Last Gift

This fanfiction is an ensemble piece. A/N will be posted in the footers. I am sorry to all the purest out there—I do not use Japanese suffixes unless it's "sempai." As a writer (not a reader), I find them jarring.

**If this is your first time reading this story, please proceed. However, if you have read this story before, I need to update you on its status. Do read the following A/N. Perhaps, even before you read the prologue. It is imperative. **

Enjoy!

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The night was full, a black cowl over the world. As if to hide herself from these events, the new moon was invisible.

Only the stars braved the horror, reflected tenfold in the ice that covered all things.

In every direction, the land wore frost skin. The nearby lake mirrored the sequined sky, a black sheet of glass studded with celestial diamonds. The frozen leaves, reduced to petrified sculpture, were wind chimes. With the merest breeze, they brushed against one another, producing the subtle clang of mourning.

Though the wind refused, time stood still. And a boy, appearing no older the ten, red eyes glittering with malice, turned in a slow circle, searching. His feet slid across the ice so smoothly he might have been skating. As his breath fogged, he was keenly silent. He rotated, his predatory glare flitting to and from every pocket of darkness.

Crouching defensively, the boy could not help but wince. His wounds, while not lethal, bled profusely despite the frigid temperature. His blood oozed from every limb, and a gash above his brow ran down his face like hot tears.

The sudden change in the atmosphere, the shift of smell in the air, unsettled him. The deficiency of movement caused him to pause.

Standing slowly, the Iceboy frowned in confusion.

Only moments earlier he had battled to the death, his mind armored by glaciers—so cold no one would dare trespass. He had danced with a hellion bent on his destruction.

His foe had fought with desperate cunning, sustaining grievous injury through her efforts but continuing with reckless fury. She commanded Shadow, had moved like a black wraith. Thus, he had been unable to see her.

The bleeding boy had been hard-pressed to catch her because he could not freeze her darkness. Only by chance, striking out in sweeping motions, he had landed the initial blows.

Luckily, the Shadowwoman could not hide her seeping wounds. He had only to follow the hot liquid, sensing it as it fell upon his ice.

Then, the Iceboy had attacked in earnest. However, she had moved too fast for the boy to defend himself completely. The deadly shadow had harassed him, darting forward to stab him then out of reach almost as fast.

The tide of battle had oscillated wildly.

The Iceboy had wanted to bite her—to ripe her apart.

But, now, the Shadowwoman's smoky, sultry scent eluded him. The void was complete, as if the blood from which the smell originated had disappeared all together. Her unnatural shadow, a denser darkness than night, was nowhere.

The fury in the air had dissipated.

Even as his glowing eyes began to dim to their natural sapphire blue, his gold hair no longer standing on end, this sudden peace—the relative calm—unnerved him.

His labored breath began to slow and deepen. Still, the boy remained tense, his mind still protected by sheets of ice against the unfathomable.

"_Yukidiachi!"_

The Iceboy turned abruptly, stupidly; the desperate call was of the mind, not a true sound at all. The only person capable of reaching beyond his barriers was his Mistress.

The ice bellow his feet hardened as his eyes flickered red again. "_Mistress? Where are you? I come,"_ he replied into the In-Between.

Raising his head to the sky, Yuki inhaled with purpose. On the breeze, he caught the tang of fear, metal, and disuse from beyond the treeline on the far bank. His Mistress must be there.

Without pausing to consider the situation further, Yuki made his way to her with all possible speed. He glided across the frozen water, a blur leaving only drops of blood as proof he had not simply reappeared on the other side of the lake.

There the Iceboy found a gruesome scene. The landscape here was dyed black, blood dark without moonlight. Everything was draped in hot wet—the grass, the trees, the rocks, and bits of detritus no longer distinguishable. It hung in the air, a sweet cloying mist.

Overpowered by the smell, Yuki struggled to find his Mistress.

Then he saw her, her unbound locks midnight in the darkness, saturated and glistening dully as the liquid caught the starlight. She was barefoot on her knees, her forehead pressed to the ground. Her dress hung, tattered and soaked, immodestly on her frame. She bled from every appendage, her ruined arms wrapped around her midriff where blood seeped between her fingers.

Yuki wished his Mistress would lift her head but feared what he would find in her face. Her body, a body he was born—made—to protect, was unrecognizable, a rent disaster.

And her sole instrument of death, a silver dagger, lay dolefully at her side.

Yuki felt a wave of horror and guilt as he stared. Both the dagger and he had failed her. His Mistress's life was slipping away from beneath her hands.

"Mistress. I…" he cried in dismay. Yuki ripped his torn shirt from his body and knelt before the woman, the Queen, who ruled his world—who was his world.

"_I cannot speak, Yukidiachi. I am blocking my pain from you, but I don't know how much longer… "_ Her thought was soft, yielding, receding. Even the strength of her mind, once unfaltering, could not persist as her body failed.

"_Drink,"_ the Iceboy pleaded, grasping her quaking shoulders and dragging her head from the ground. As gently as he could, Yuki pressed her face into the crock of his neck. Using the full force of his mind, he urged her to bite him.

But his Mistress demurred. She merely huddled into him, unable to shield him any longer, guiding his thoughts—merging them with hers to an extent Yuki had never experienced. Her memories began to flood his mind—her bonds of friendship, love, and hope crushed him. The intensity of her devotion to his Master, her brother and husband, and to their children crippled him. Her gratitude for and trust in her Guardian--for him--was suffocating. And her hope… the picture of the world she envisioned—one of coexistence, tolerance, and community—diminished him.

But her pain, their shared pain, was the most damning. Sublime, terrible, timeless, it obliterated the world; it became the world.

Unknowingly, he wept for the first time in his life.

"_Mistress, please drink," _Yuki begged. The pounding of his heart began to slow as his mind dulled with hers. His fingers began to tingle oddly as his ears began to ring.

Again his Mistress refused, saying only, _"You were right. It was a trap. I'm sure Brother will find solace in that at least. He knew it all along. But I had hoped…"_

Yuki, his mind intimate with hers, did not need to object. His disregard for her attempt at sarcasm or humor or comfort reverberated through them both.

"_Yukidiachi, we are dying,"_ she mourned, speaking past their agony. With immortal fortitude, some of which she borrowed from him, his Mistress lifted her head from his shoulder.

The Iceboy recoiled as he saw her face. Not even a Pureblood could heal the damage she had sustained. The left side of her face was slit from hairline to chin. One of her eyes was reduced to a gaping hole.

Then, she flinched. From her mind, he sensed her sudden alarm. _"Yukidiachi, the humans—the ones who hunt us—their scent is near. We will be discovered!"_

"_Then I will kill them," _retorted the guardian vainly, but they both knew that his threat was idle. They were too weak, paralyzed by blood loss and pain, to outrun the enemy, and even if they tried, the trail of blood would easily lead the hunters to them.

His Mistress tried to keep her head up but failed. _"No. You will need your strength,"_ she rejoined. Hope flickered in their minds—the hope was hers. _"You might be able to run."_

Yuki could not understand; he lacked the stability to try. Their pain was unbearable.

How could he run? They were connected by more then loyalty or love; they shared one life, or rather his Mistress shared her life with him. If she died, Yuki would perish.

'_Stay with me,"_ he implored as his Mistress retreat still further from his mind, leaving only an echo of her presence to direct him. As the differentiation of self and other became opaque, panic joined the Iceboy's anguish.

Yuki clung to her presence as if in keeping her soul close he could stay death a little longer. The boy would take her pain over her silence. "_Mistress, the Shadow—the Guardian—she disappeared. You killed your opponent and her Guardian disappeared. That is the nature of The Stigmata. I cannot run."_

Yuki could not feel her emotion anymore. In the In-Between, his Mistress caged her consciousness in silver, and across the great divide she Compelled him. _'Hand me, my dagger."_

Yuki could not refuse. Yuki did as he was bidden without question, the alien power of Compulsion convincing his broken body to retrieve the dagger beside them. As he did, his Mistress opened her mangled left hand slowly.

Even as her soul began to fade into the Distance, the silver flowing over her mindvoice, her words pierced him, spoken in the timbre of a god, _"You are my Guardian, bound to me as is my right hand. You claim history as evidence, but I will not condemn you whom I love as I do my children. Yukidiachi, you are my right hand."_

"_My right hand…" _she repeated softly.

Her final demands reached him like a vague whisper, a more an apparition than words, _"Do not waste this gift… don't stay to battle futility. Run and tell no one of this… that would implicate the entire Clan, when only one was guilt. Justice has been served. My Brother… my children cannot begin a blood feud… Live honorably, Yuki… and protect my kindred if you can."_

His Mistress's demands were only requests. She did not Compel him—her gift to him was freedom.

The Iceboy only nodded, dying too quickly to find meaning, to _fully _comprehend.

"_My right hand,"_ she ghost-whispered.

His Mistress lifted her dagger with her left hand, ignoring the way it quaked, and cut off her right hand with a single stoke. Then, she crumpled pathetically.

The indefinable link—the union of his life to his Mistress's—snapped instantly. The anticlimax, a single moment encapsulating his life's work, cut through him. The remainder, true meaninglessness, descended upon him. The implications of his severed existence would not come—after the end, there could only be nothing.

Yukidiachi simply was.

Contrary to his fractured mind, the Iceboy's strength—the strength his Mistress had borrowed to maintain her life long enough to spare his—returned to him.

And he screamed out in frustration, shaking her roughly, willing her to repair the breech. Terror, unrelated to death or pain, seized him. Yuki was lost.

What was his life now? She was everything. She was his reason to live, his creator and purpose.

"Mistress!" the Iceboy whaled, incoherent in his grief. "Mistress! Mistress! Mistress!" He would not abide her absence.

But she was beyond his reach in every way. His Mistress had surrendered to deepest sleep, surely a painless death.

And Yuki rocked back and forth, holding her, kissing her ruined face, murmuring pleas for her guidance which would never come.

Distantly, Yuki heard the group of humans stumbling blindly through the trees; they were closer than he would have thought.

An alien instinct, self preservation—the antithesis of his duty—tried to pull him away from his Mistress's unconscious body, but he resisted a moment longer. Yuki felt blind rage; he couldn't even keep vigil until she passed into the Distance.

But the Iceboy knew he had to leave her, his Mistress's last gift too precious to squander.

His eyes overbright, sparkling with frozen tears, Yuki promised, "Benihime Kuran. All that you ask will be done."

Then, Yukidiachi ran away into black Night.

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A/N:** Welcome (back) reader to "Bits of Relevant Information Corner," (info I think is relevant, at least). For those of you who are new, this space is devoted to answering any reviewer questions deserving of a general response and little tidbits about the preceding material. Please review because it is both inspirational and informative. Judging from the rewrites, you can obviously tell I take your reviews seriously.

**Benihime** means Red Princess

**Yukidiachi** means cold, great wisdom

**PAST READER: **This story has been overhauled in every sense of the word. Though some of the original content and nearly all of the plot remain, the structure, speed, and a few key elements have been altered entirely. I have posted these three chapters and the prologue together because they are the most important rereads, and understanding the fundamentals is key to understanding future action. Much of the flashbacks have been removed, so you—original reader—have an edge, but the proceeding chapters will take a serious turn. Many of the events are reordered, combined, or done away with all together. Please reread, and pay close attention to the prologue.

If you want to know why I edited this piece to the degree I have, I must start by telling you that I died a little with each deletion. However, the ending I had envisioned took a radical turn (for the better, I hope). I needed—had to—rewrite this story completely. And because I believe exposition is the bedrock of resolution, I would not be satisfied until I corrected every bit of it. Additionally, a few of my most prized reviewers (you know who you are) pointed out some serious flaws. I was sloppy in spelling and grammar, gratuitous in description, and digressing rapidly. I take valid criticism seriously. I make an effort to correct my mistakes with haste. Because of this, I took dramatic action.

In closing, I assure you that (aside from any spelling or grammatical errors) this piece will not change again, nor will the span between updates equal months instead of weeks. I am dedicated to this story's completion. The story lives in me, and I need to finish it as much for your enjoyment as my growth as a writer.

Thank you for your patience and understanding. Those of you who have stuck with me, especially those who reviewed, asked for updates, and/or added it to their favorites, will forever be _my_ favorites. Cliché though it sounds, you have a special place in my heart.

Mare

R&R


	2. The Stigmata

I do not own Vampire Knight.

**Song - Fog by Radiohead

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_"__There's a little child,_

_Running round this house,_

_And he never leaves._

_He will never leave__."_

For over ten years, the Kuran estate had been abandoned. The surrounding landscape, dense forest backed by white capped mountains, had encroached upon the house. The grounds were overrun and wild. Vines and moss climbed the walls. The gates and fencing were chipped and bent. Dead leaves, bits of lattice work, and indistinguishable masses of decaying this and that besieged the crumbling retaining walls. The shudders hung askew and forlorn from rusty brackets. The lawns, the hedges, and the trees had grown beyond their intended heights, lending a feeling of derelict opulence to the property and dwarfing the main house.

As if the universe wanted to hide the ruins, everything was frozen over, masked by a thick layer of snow.

Overall, it made for a bereft picture—bereft in that time had stolen order from the estate but not the hints that it had once existed. A forgotten, brittle rake stood sentinel against the remnants of an outbuilding. The remains of lonesome benches, neglected tables, and broken chairs peeked out through the weather-beaten foliage. Cracked slate stones wound a discontinuous path through the unrestrained wilderness and snow. The cobblestone drive, pristine from lack of use but punctuated by dead weeds, proved that Kuran House had once been a home.

However, the natural beauty of the land would not be diminished. Intent and purposeful, nature's white claws ravaged the domesticated landscape. The estate held dark secrets hidden by the frostbitten hands of the insatiable wild.

Like a vampire with bloody eyes and bloody fangs, it demanded a sick sort of admiration from all who looked upon it. A leafy predator—all lust, power, and thirst—could not be restrained by the trappings of humanity. A bench swing? A marble fountain? A crochet lawn? They drank blood not tea.

Inside this bleak shell was dusty treasure. The inner walls of Kuran House were painted rich hues of cream. Masterpieces from antiquity hung smugly along the wide, dim hallways. In substitute for windows, large paintings of landscapes and colossal, gilded mirrors afforded the occupants of the lower floors the illusion of open spaces. The ceilings were adorned with gold leafed frescoes, and complex crown moldings and chair rails wrapped around each room, musty and stale from lack of fresh air. Sturdy, wooden furniture, each a functional art in its own right, dotted every overlarge room. Once plush fabrics—velvet, satin, silk, cashmere, brocade, leather, and linen—hung moth-eaten from metal bed frames and curtain rods and lined the couches, chairs, and ottomans. Tarnished crystal and brass chandeliers threw rainbows and white light onto every dusty surface. Granite columns, marble floors, and teak staircases with iron-wrought railings made every step a little louder and every breath a little colder.

And perpetual shadow suffused the pallor Kaname and Yuuki Kuran shared.

The dimmed wall sconces cast an insubstantial glow over its occupants, their ivory skin gleaming eerily, almost from within, as they lounged on the gray chaise in the center of the floor. Their faces were beautiful: the same dark eyes and pale complexion, one face angular and the other round.

The thin man lay back upon the cushions, frowning into the nothingness of the peripheral gloom. His ebony hair flowed in disarray around his brooding face. Tucked in his bare arms slept his princess. With long hair the color of polished chestnut and lips red as blood, she wandered in the amorphous substance of her dreams, her lashes fluttering as she drifted.

The felicity of the pair so eclipsed their surroundings, nothing else was worthy of notice until a third figure stepped forward from the darkness.

Subtle as a breeze, she came. "Master," breathed the newcomer, too low to be heard.

How long she had stood in shadow, waiting for acknowledgment, went unasked and unanswered. Her duty to the lounging man and his sleeping princess was without limit.

"You're home." His uneasy frown resolved into a smile as he turned his full attention to Seiren. Long ago, he had reconciled himself to the ever-changing state of her appearance, but she had retained this form for several years.

Lithe of body, chin-length hair tinged the faintest periwinkle, and eyes an unintelligible mixture of gray, lavender, and quicksilver—she was beautiful. Her long-sleeve cheongsam was quality—the black trim and vine design stitched on smoke colored silk. The hem of her tunic reached three inches above her knees, two slits up the sides allowing unobstructed movement. Paired with her top were wool leggings and utilitarian boots.

Seiren stood before him, all erect and flinty, carrying a trench coat over her right arm, a nondescript pack on her back, and a ring of keys in her left hand. She had just returned from her mission.

"I assume by your presence that you have found the one we seek." Kaname gestured vaguely, his eyes shifting down to Yuuki's face.

He considered the prudence of verbal communication; Yuuki must not overhear. After a moment of silent deliberation, Kaname returned his gaze to Seiren, his expression shrewd.

Acknowledging his caution, Seiren nodded her consent. Relinquishing the most rudimentary barriers between them, Seiren opened herself up to the In-Between, where they could communicate telepathically. "_I agree that silence is wise. It is best that Mistress remains unaware… for now." _Seiren's fathomless expression concealed her tightly clinched fist, the ring of keys digging in. "_Yes, I have found her._"

"_I suspected… but no matter… How did you find her_?"

"_The Stigmata manifests even in a human form. I traced the record of a child found in an alley that… unspeakable night. The "sa" and "yori" kanji are branded behind her right ear. Her adoptive family named her for The Stigmata. Coincidentally, she bears her original name. I am sure you know what that means."_

"I had my suspicions," replied Kaname aloud, utterly impassive. A speculative look distorting his features, he analyzed this new information.

"_How ever easy it was to find her, the difficulty of the next stage of the process has increased exponentially. This will complicate matters. Mistress will not tolerate it,"_ continued Seiren.

"_Seiren, it cannot be changed. The strain of separation is weakening Yuuki with each hour that passes. Her dreams are confused, and her blood is restless._" Kaname's face hardened. "This cannot go on." Kaname could not suppress the rebellious quiver in his voice.

Yuuki was becoming increasingly unwell; a constant lethargy pervaded her movements, and a deep, unanswered longing flavored her blood. And her illness was killing her quickly. Swift action was imperative to heal her before her mind devolved.

Now that they had the requisite information, gathering the missing piece—the cure—into the fold was paramount.

Kaname paused to give Seiren a stern look before he continued silently. _"Who she is matters little. How Sayori became who she is now can be considered later. The facts remain. You traced The Stigmata, the brand we were not sure survived. Now, we are certain that it did. We bring her here. Now. That Sayori Wakaba is Yuuki's Guardian changes nothing." _Kaname summoned his most serious leer, thereby negating all argument, but the expression did not have the desired effect on Seiren.

Seiren was his Guardian—his Pureblood's generative. She was the ultimate expression of his survival instinct manifested in a separate entity—a guardian born to beat back the lesser gods. As she was of him, she could not fear him.

Seiren shook her head. _"Mistress will resist. With all due respect, you overlook something vital,"_ she objected, her storm-eyes glinting, contempt barely contained.

Seiren knew that Yuuki would refuse her Gaurdian; to reclaim Sayori, Yukki would have to Change her.

While that was not such a tragedy, the Transformation of a Gaurdian was unwholesome business. Sayori's very form would alter to meet her Mistress's needs. Her physical traits, mannerisms, and preferences would be done away with altogether. Only the ashes of her mind would subsist, an impersonal catalog of incomplete information, most of her memories lost entirely. The few remaining memories would be reversed as her perspective was replaced by Yuuki's. Sayori would gain foreign memories from Yuuki's mind, as well.

The metamorphosis would strip Sayori of personhood, reduce her to a blank entity with only a name—the content of Sayori's character, her _new_ character, determined solely by her Mistress's demands, both conscious and subconscious. The Transformation occurred to more effectively serve, and like a phoenix born from these residual ashes, Sayori would be made anew.

The brand—the kanji "_sa" and "yori"_—behind her ear memorialized this bond which tied her to Yuuki Kuran nearer than mere love ever could. Yuuki's right hand would sooner rebel against her than Sayori the Guardian betray her.

This was the fate of The Stigmata, the branded Guardians of Pure Blood.

Seiren knew that Yuuki would never comply; she would never knowingly condemn Sayori to that fate. Seiren feared Yuuki would rather die. But therein lay the futility of the situation. Sayori's existence was inexorably linked to Yuuki's soul. If Yuuki died, Sayori would cease to be as well.

"_Overlook something vital?' What could possibly be more vital than Yuuki's life?"_ Kaname railed soundlessly, resentful of the precedings.

His anger perforated their barriers. Unintended, his most vivid memory—the unbridled agony of the past—forced an image of a lifeless corpse, prone in a pool of her own blood; the memory blurred by ancient tears and aimless fury. Kaname would not loose Yuuki, too. He could not bear it.

Kaname's eyes pulsed red.

Seiren considered the image she had seen so many times before; the dead womanchild who haunted them both. The first Kuran Queen was the root of all things, and Yuuki was her legacy. The beginning and the end.

Pushing the timeless ache, the echo of unrepentant grief, into the deepest confines of her heart, Seiren studied her Master's rebuttal. Not frightened by his glare at all, she thought him rather petulant.

He was weak—which Seiren must rectify. This was the true nature of her duty: to protect her Master from himself. _"You must admit that you have been mistaken before. Master, you rushed to Transform me the night Rido attacked. Believing that disguising me would deter pursuers, you proceeded without pause. As I Transformed, the Level-E attacked despite your efforts. In haste, you erred. Would you do this again? Would you repeat the same mistake?"_

Only Kaname's gaze betrayed his discomfort as it shifted over Seiren's head, avoiding eye contact.

"_Or rather, would you repeat another mistake—one which cost you far more? Mistress Benihime…"_

Kaname's face paled. The fight, red irises glowing, abated. Defeat evident, he reigned himself in. There could be no denial when the past proved the legitimacy of his Guardian's argument.

Seiren's voice in his head softened to the merest suggestion of a breeze. _"Master, we both know why Mistress is fading. She is resisting. Guardians lack the power to refuse Transformation as per The Stigmata, but the princess can refuse the Right. She is at subconscious war with herself. When she discovers the true nature of her confliction, I fear…"_ Seiren paused to collect herself, shuddering uncharacteristically.

Nevertheless, she persevered, _"Mistress was not _hidden_ in a human shell; Mistress _became_ a true human. Do you understand? Mistress needed a human Gaurdian, and so Sayori became a human child with a fitting disposition to become her companion. An unprecedented bond between Guardian and Master was forged when Yuuki Cross, not Princess Yuuki Kuran, fashioned herself an equal in Sayori Wakaba. Their bond is unique—one of mutual love, not submission. Mistress has returned to her rightful place, but she will not sever her human connections. The bond between she and 'Yori' persists. Distance is not weakening Mistress; rather, it is love. As a Pureblood, Mistress requires a Guardian. The Stigmata is most telling. The subconscious struggle exhausts and confuses her. But forced to choose, confronted with the facts… it could steal her sanity."_

Disconcerted by Kaname's unreadable expression, Seiren struggled to say words she knew would wound him, _"My point is this: the Kuran princess is formidable, but Yuuki Cross is more firmly rooted. Mistress does not remember herself. She will not abide this loss… not when she has already lost so many… not after loosing the Kiryuu boy."_ Seiren had the presence of mind to bow her head, sorry for the pain the truth caused him but not for telling him the truth. To Seiren, these conjectures were absolutes.

Seiren prided herself in believing she knew her Master better than anyone, but his indignation, the stern resentment seeping across the In-Between, surprised her.

"Look at me, Seiren," he demanded, locking his eyes with Seiren's, startling her by the return of sound, "I cannot lie to _you_. There have been times when I found you a nuisance and a bore. However, those times were in the distant past when you were someone else. As you are, you are precious to me, second only to Yuuki. I rely on your guidance and opinions. Our relationship one 'of submission?' You are blood of my blood, so never degrade the bond between us." Kaname paused to collect his feelings into words Seiren could understand.

"Do you not realize, Seiren?" He looked down at Yuuki, placing his hand upon her cheek.

"I love this girl more than anything in the world, would sacrifice all to keep her safe. Even my own life," Kaname memorized the lines of Yuuki's face for a moment, tracing the doll-like features which had dominated his thoughts all his life. He kissed Yuuki's forehead before reaching his other hand out to Seiren.

Seiren's body moved forward without permission from her head, and she grasped his warm fingers with her cooler ones. Kaname pulled her down to sit on the floor beside the couch, pressing her head in to lean into his side.

"For her, I would give everything, Seiren, but she does not share with me the bond I share with you," Kaname told the ceiling, his voice courting shadows. "You and I will embrace death as one, Seiren. Never alone, our last breath communal, we cease to be together. It is an unfair price to pay, Seiren. You suffer for my love. So unjust. You are denied the right to your own body and mind at the whim of my basest needs. You lack the power to retain your life if I choose to end mine."

"You do yourself an _injustice _by _degrading_ yourself. As you said, I have been an unsatisfactory Guardian for uncounted eons, but I am devoted to you. You are my purpose. Why should I live if you die?" Seiren barely blushed, peeking upside down into Kaname's face to see him smiling sadly. She turned away, changing the subject to hide her mortification. _"I only fight you in this because lessons learned cannot be so easily discarded. Wisdom demands that we take heed. Yuuki is precious to us. We must be circumspect; we must be industrious. "_

Letting his resignation roil between them, he said, _"Fine, you have stated your objections. I assume you have formulated an alternative."_

Seiren frowned to herself. She had devised another method; however, it was unscrupulous. And though success was guaranteed, Seiren disapproved. She felt soiled be it.

Seiren sighed, _"We have no hope of swaying Mistress. Already, she is too far-gone to hear reason. Sayori is the only person capable of reaching Mistress… to convince her Mistress to embrace the Right. The girl's honor will force her to accept the unthinkable; she is too loyal—too good—to watch her best friend die. She will see the futility in Yuuki's refusal. Sayori's influence is key. When she sees past her fear, Sayori will come to us of her own free-will."_

Kaname waited patiently for the rest. Seiren was just rationalizing.

She held her head higher. _"Rather than an event, I suggest a process_. _Surely slower, but necessary."_ After a pause, she explained further, _"Because we must hide the truth from Mistress, the situation requires finesse, cunning... deceit." _An image a blond, blue eyed boy flickered in the In-Between._  
_

Kaname ran a hand through his hair, _"I would ask if you are serious… but I know you are incapable of dishonesty. Hanabusa Aidou, really?_

Undeterred, Seiren continued,_ "He is the only choice. Mistress is unlikely to suspect him of duplicity. Aidou's talent for Shielding is unrivaled. The Hunters will glean little from his mind. Our plan will be safe from the In-Between."_

"—_and what of the girl?"_ asked Kaname.

Seiren gave up all pretense. "_He has a gift for manipulation, as well," _she replied, "_Aidou… _interacts…_ with humans on a level the rest of us do not. He understands them. As Mistress devolves, Sayori will suffer as well. She will feel the pull; no doubt, her fear of us and herself will intensify. Hanabusa will use Sayori's self-doubt to his advantage, turning her fear of us to fear of everything else. He will convince her that Yuuki has the answer. Then, the girl will come of her own volition."_

Kaname nodded, understanding both Seiren's rationale and her self-disgust. To spare her, he mused, sharing this opinion in the In-Between, "_Ironic, is it not? I will not have to give him permission to be underhanded. He will manipulate her without conscious thought. It is in his nature to sacrifice decency to achieve his goals."_

Seiren glanced up at Kaname—the only element of her plan of which she was uncertain on the tip of her tongue.

Kaname laughed quietly,_ "Will he agree to go? Undoubtedly. He is bored here. He will agree to go after he reconciles himself to the peripheral…annoyances. There is nothing so appealing to Aidou than secrets; he will enjoy the challenge—solving the mystery on his own. He will go to do my bidding."_

Seiren froze, _"A secret?… that's not…you wouldn't…"_

Kaname perused the ceiling, the silence deep. Finally, he answered her unspoken question, _"What he does not know cannot hurt him." _

Seiren pushed away from the couch, disappointment apparent, "_But, why? He will not be ignorant forever. It is one thing to abuse the child—soon she will neither remember nor suffer. Sayori Wakaba does not have soul to scar. But, Aidou? Even he will… you send him to con a little girl, but eventually he will find the truth. Instead of bringing Mistress's friend to cheer her—a harmless whim—he will have brought the girl to her death. Aidou may pretend indifference, but he is not above guilt."_

To this, Kaname glanced meaningfully at the sleeping girl in his arms. _"I do not care." _

"_A mistake," _she whispered sadly.

"_And yet, I feel only self-disgust coming from you, not concern for the boy,"_ answered Kaname, knowing that was partially untrue.

Seiren's expression remained blank as if she had not heard him. But Seiren did hear—their covenant sealed in the In-Between, inside her mind, ringing in her ears. His self-serving lie—a twisted half-truth contrived to make her feel better—stung._ "I have already made the necessary arrangements,"_ said Seiren numbly.

Kaname softened, _"If it will ease you, I will caution him not to become attached. For your peace of mind, Aidou will promise to keep his distance._"

Dissatisfied but attempting to hide it, Seiren changed the subject yet again, forgoing the In-Between completely. "It is finished. Nothing more can be said," she concluded, "I believe another situation requires attention." She leaned back onto the couch, the gesture symbolic of begrudging concession.

Kaname lifted an elegant eyebrow in surprise. "Seiren, I did not expect _you_ to breech this topic."

"It is an indirect threat; we must respond," she replied.

"Undeniably, but when did you become a humanitarian?" Kaname asked, his face tilted up toward the ceiling again.

Ignoring the irony and the question, Seiren proceeded, "Allow me to retrieve Takuma Ichijo," eyes trained on the shadows. As an afterthought, she added, "Please."

"But, why?" Kaname wondered aloud.

"Do you require me to list every reason his absence is abhorrent?" Seiren asked in professional tones, attempting to sound disinterested. She failed.

Seiren felt an alien urgency. Listing her reasons would take a too long. She was anxious to begin her search for the lost blond. Although most of her reasons were unexceptional—Ichijo could be dead, tortured, or lay snug in the den of the enemy—some of her reasons were strange by her own estimation—he could be lonely or scared or broken; he could be waiting for someone to save him. Listing all the reasons she wanted to find him hurt Seiren's chest. She felt wrong footed. The strange ache urged her to leave now, not sit here ruminating over all the possible horrors which could have befallen the naïve teenager. Ichijo was just so… innocent.

"Not every reason, just the ones I cannot puzzle out for myself." Kaname smiled secretly, bemused by the change in Seiren which had gradually taught her to care for others. Although, she was mostly unaware, Seiren's capacity to 'feel' was growing. He had given that to her—the only real freedom he could provide.

Seiren frowned hard, thinking, searching for the word. Then, she gave up, bowing her head in defeat. "I do not have the words. I just… I _need_ to bring him back; I _have_ to bring him back. There is something else I have to find. I might be able to… I want to belong," admitted Seiren.

"That feeling… the one leaking across the In-Between… Seiren, that is hope," said Kaname proudly, "As long you go in part for yourself, and you agree to wait until nightfall to leave, you can go. I will not stand in the way of hope." Kaname conceded gracefully as he messed her hair. Seiren grimaced.

They settled into companionable quiet—each one enjoying the intimacy of their minds, saddened that it would disappear too soon. Like Aidou, Seiren would Shield her thoughts completely to avoid detection. Neither she nor Kaname were fond of the idea.

Kaname broke the silence regretfully, his expression dark. "You know my suspicions… Sarah will fight if provoked," Kaname said, but he knew Seiren had no fear.

"If your suspicions prove true, she will die," Seiren replied. She turned to him fully, her expression harboring no doubt, no mercy, no remorse of any kind.

Kaname gauged the determined her eyes, almost completely silver when filled with violence. Although Seiren was incapable of fear, he was not. While she was gone—for a weeks at best or months at worst—the discomfort of separation would be unbearable. He would worry constantly over Seiren's safety and the effects of her actions.

Aside from his reservations, Kaname did not question Seiren's success.

Unable to stomach the lethal focus in her eyes, Kaname willed her to sleep.

"Thank you… Master," Seiren murmured, abruptly lethargic. She knew he was forcing her to sleep but was powerless to fight the impulse; Seiren could not fight the pull of peaceful sleep.

"Sleep dear ones and dream of happy dreams," he prayed. Kaname glared into the shadows, willing them to stay far away. "Dream of a place where there is nothing to kill."

Kaname lay there for a time, just thinking. Mostly, he thought about Yuuki. He worried obsessively over her. Nothing she did or said was beneath his notice. With a smile, she left him speechless, and with a scowl, she crushed him. For her love, Kaname would cross every line. If only for her happiness, he would cross them all again.

Just like Benihime… Kaname pulled away from memories of her; they unhinged him.

To distract himself, Kaname whispered over and over the lullaby which had started everything—the lullaby which had led them to Sayori Wakaba.

"There was once a princess in the House of Always Night. Though the sun did not touch that sphere, she wished to dance with light. Every night, there slept a princess, dreaming of the sun so bright; smiling down from heaven on the princess hidden in the House of Always Night." Over and over, he chanted, trying to obliterate conscious thought.

With a jolt, Yuuki's head shot up like someone had screamed her name. Clearly disoriented, she took a cursory inventory of herself and her surroundings. Yuuki did not seem at all surprised to find Seiren asleep beside them. Rather, she reached out a timid hand to place atop Seiren's own, interlacing their fingers. Yuuki settled, eying Kaname accusingly. "You were singing my song, again," she said.

Kaname smirked, concealing apprehension with false equanimity. "Once, it put you to sleep, and now, it wakes you up. An unusual turn about, don't you think?"

Yuuki continued to peer at him without humor. "Something about that song… it… I can't explain right."

"Would you let me feel it with you, then?" asked Kaname, "Can we share it, Yuuki?"

"No," she yawned hugely, drunk with sleep, "… it's only for us… for the sun.. and me…" Then, Yuuki retreated into the miasma of dreams, and so they spoke of it no more.

Kaname glanced at Seiren's backpack. He would write a detailed list of rules for Hanabusa to follow while at Cross Academy. It would ease Seiren's mind.

And to protect Yuuki's love for The Guardian she cherished so deeply.

* * *

**Relevant Information Corner: **Changes here are of the utmost import. Other than that, I have little to add.

1) **Seiren** means against thy self, selfless being. It's fitting for her character and personality. Incidentally, the inspiration for this piece.

2) **Sayori** means "soil" and "trust." I made the jump from "trust on the earth." Like sunlight falling on the earth, the sun trusted to rise every morning. I admit, it's a liberal leap (perhaps too liberal), but I need it for the story to work.

Signora, Mare

R&R


	3. Terms Of A Dubious Nature

I do not own VK.

**Song – Spaceman by The Killers**

Enjoy.

* * *

"_It started with a low light.  
Next thing I knew they ripped me from my bed.  
And then they took my blood type.  
It left a strange impression in my head."_

Kain had inherited the title of "second-in-command" in Takuma's absence.

'Temporary, only temporary,' he chanted to himself.

Kain neither excelled at nor enjoyed the job—to come running every time the staff needed his approval of the dinner menu. To mediate every petty squabble between his housemates—expected to come running every time they needed something they could just as easily get for themselves. Presently, Kain felt like a much abused butler-nanny-errand boy. Always rushing or scolding or placating.

Kain had little time for himself. His favorite activities—watching Ruka walk, watching Ruka read, watching Ruka breathe—were relegated to footnotes under the heading _if I can get Hanabusa to build me a time machine_. But Kain had no time to talk to Hanabusa either, his cousin's absence as disconcerting as it was disheartening.

Armed with his self-perpetuating to-do list, Kain was asked to run of this cavernous house. And though he resented the task, Kain had to admit that, despite its lack of windows, Kuran House was magnificent.

Too bad, he thought, that its new inhabitants were too distracted to appreciate the house's beauty. There was little comfort to be found in the pretty furniture.

They were troubled—too many serious, deadly, unsolvable problems. Even things which should have made for easy distractions, thoughts of home and childhood, caused a deep ache—the echo of those once-happy memories rung with betrayed innocence.

Only members of the Aidou Clan—Hanabusa, Rima, Kain, and Ruka—were able to remain, at least in part, connected to their families. As staunch royalists, the Aidou Clan did not begrudge the Purebloods their right to lord over their lessers.

Several of their servants had followed the Aidou teens to the Kuran estate after they sped off to join Kaname and Yuuki. Finding the wayward charges must have been a chore, but Kain was thankful. The addition of those dedicated subordinates to the previously nonexistent staff was much appreciated.

The others were not so lucky.

Senri had not been disowned yet, but Kain suspected that his needy mother was twisting arms to stay the inevitable. It was only a matter of time before Senri would be stripped of his surname, stripped of Clan. The model roamed the house like a rain cloud. He was struggling to accept his new identity—his lineage. Rido Kuran was a psychopath who had abandoned his paramour and, subsequently, possessed his own son. Heedless of Rima's reassurances, Senri was stubbornly convinced that every fault was his own—that he was more like his father than anyone wanted to believe. In reviewing his actions, Senri found endless mistakes but no comfort. The clarity of his father's damnation haunted Senri. To avoid everyone, he slept most of the time, but in slumber, he found no peace; in the In-Between, Senri wandered with his demons.

Of Seiren—she never spoke of a family outside of her "Master." So regardless of what stress Seiren's absence caused her parents, she appeared neither remorseful nor longing--only indifferent. Seiren was _insubstantial_, wearing a blank face. Kain was not sure Seiren had the capacity to care one way or the other.

And Takuma was gone. Not a word had been heard from his lips or pen for several months. When Senri and Rima went to look for him, they had found nothing more than bloodstains and shoe prints.

Thus, the emotional climate of the house was somber, aggrieved. Even the members of Kain's family had dulled in this grave atmosphere.

Rima's forced sarcasm concealed little. Her personality was muted, her wit dampened by her concern for Takuma and Senri. Rima still wore her pigtails, but they seemed limp to Kain.

Ruka had chopped off her hip-length hair to her collar bone; as the ash silk strands fell away, she let her heartache fall as well. Ruka had found her resolve, dedicating herself to study. She walked, ate, and probably slept with a book in her hands. From Benihime and Kaname—the first Kuran siblings—to the present, she combed ancient manuscripts, genealogies, and histories in an effort to resurrect the Kuran name. With desperate fervor, Ruka crafted charts and maps, proposals and petitions. Ruka said she was looking for a solution, but Kain thought she was looking for an escape.

And of course, Hanabusa—Kain had always thought his cousin was above the influence of general depression. But, Kain could tell that Hanabusa was struggling to maintain his unaffected front.

Hanabusa Aidou received the honor of safeguarding the Princess—an honor he received with ill grace. Following the Princess Yukki—all goodness and wide-eyed purity—around all day was not his idea of time well spent. Years ago, Hanabusa had made it clear that he would bow down to no Pureblood save Kaname Kuran. He did not extend that "courtesy" to Yuuki. Hanabusa had already done enough—saved her little human friend as a personal favor to the King. Hanabusa never signed up to babysit precious Little Yuuki.

Evidently, that line of thinking had been all wrong, and a slap across the face from Hanabusa's favorite Pureblood made him see sense. Eventually, Hanabusa accepted the inevitability of the situation.

Yuuki was all good cheer, positively, and compassion—it nauseated Hanabusa. But she could take a joke, and Hanabusa could appreciate that if nothing else. He called her by depreciating nicknames, and Yukki laughed. Instead of a babysitter, Hanabusa became an unwilling accomplice to her outlandish whims. Yuuki had zany notions; she volunteered the two of them to help the servants clean the house and cook.

But, after the first few weeks at Kuran House, Yuuki became inexplicably exhausted over nothing. She was always sleepy but complained of anxiety. The Night Princess continued to deteriorate as the days flew by, and Hanabusa was at a loss as his time with Yuuki dwindled.

Now, Hanabusa was left to divert himself and stay out of trouble. He tried to make good use of all that free time. Hanabusa avoided confrontation; he even left Ruka alone, begrudgingly impressed by her quest to become a decent person—secretly fearing he might like the impostor who had stolen Ruka's body and cut off all her hair. Hanabusa annexed the four bedrooms adjacent and across from his own and built a laboratory for himself. He took to inventing. Using a humidifier, copper wiring, three matchsticks, and a floodlight sensor, Hanabusa modified his coffee machine to turn on when he yawned in its general direction; it helped him stay awake while he worked away on other projects. Then, Hanabusa turned his attention to a critical problem: the scarcity of blood tablets. Devising a solution to ration the blood substitute by integrating a gumball machine, gram scale, and cuckoo clock, his invention dispensed the tablets at a predetermined time interval with the added bonus of annoying everyone with its high chirping. But even creating useful things to annoy people had lost its fun.

Hanabusa was bored and becoming more bored by the second. The monotony of cloistered life was stifling, every night just like the night before.

Tonight just like last night.

"Shall we..," Kain trailed off. He and his cousin stood before the mahogany doors to the parlor where Kaname and Yuuki slept. Kain was hesitant to disturb them, but the crescent moon was high. They had no choice.

"Hanabusa, you are not even listening to me," Kain groused as he shook his head, unsure why he even bothered. His cousin was currently unreachable, stuck inside his head.

Shaking out of his reverie, Hanabusa replied, "Sorry, old friend. I was just thinking… wondering, actually,"

"A bit of a habit for yours," Kain muttered, running his fingers through his hair, achieving a casual look. "What were you thinking about this time?" he sighed in resigned sort of way, waiting for the complaint he knew would follow. After a pause, he added, "Don't make me pull it out of you. Just spit it out."

Hanabusa frowned wretchedly. "I'm _so_ bored… I have nothing to do. The company is dull. This place freaks me out," he whined in a rush, nearly stomping his foot in frustration, "No one is paying me the least bit of attention."

Kain considered it for a second before replying, "I don't really see your point." If Hanabusa had to bitch, at the very least, he should bitch about something fixable.

Grinning impishly, Hanabusa explained, "Well, I thought you might be able to spare a few hours of your time. Maybe take me on a field trip," popping the "p."

"Hana, I hardly have time to sleep. Entertain yourself… devote yourself to something ridiculous. It's another habit of ours," Kain droned, acutely aware they were standing in front of the parlor doors, looking to all the world like a pair of dithering idiots.

"But it's tortuously boring here. Everyone's so hard-faced—like they all died when I wasn't looking. I'm living with ghosts!" Hanabusa moaned, his hands in air, "This house reeks of killing."

"Good, planning your funeral will give you something to do," replied Kain carelessly as he opened the door.

Hanabusa followed, defeated, clearly miffed, contemplating his impending death—who would give his eulogy. Entering the dim room behind his cousin, he whispered, "I'll remember you in my will."

To this, Kain shrugged noncommittally.

Processing the scene before them, Kain and Hanabusa paused, incredulous. They stared at the three sleeping figures, trying not to laugh.

Yuuki was cradled atop Kaname's body, her chestnut locks fanned over her face like a curtain. One of her small hands was wrapped in the hair at Kaname's nape, while her other hand was interwoven with a Seiren's. Kaname's head was thrown back on the armrest, one of his arms wrapped around Yuuki's waist, the other twisted awkwardly around Seiren's shoulders. Seiren was sleeping as well, her unoccupied hand burrowed under Kaname's thigh for warmth. Her legs were covered by her coat, and a ring of keys and a backpack lay forgotten beside her.

"Figures he would make her sleep it off on the floor," Hanabusa quipped, eying Seiren speculatively. Of course, he did not actually believe anything had happened between the three. Still, it was interesting daydream. Hanabusa had always thought Seiren was born asexual. Now, he had to wonder if Seiren had that kind of potential.

Kain stiffened. What he wouldn't give to switch powers with his cousin at times such as these! Then, he could freeze Hanabusa's mouth shut in Kaname's presence.

As things currently stood, Kain could only hold his breath and pray.

Two faintly glowing eyes peered at them from between jet lashes. Then, Kain knew they were fucked.

Bowing, they waited for Kaname to speak first before apologizing. There was still the microscopic possibility he had woken up _after_ Hanabusa's comment.

Hanabusa's mind-voice was pathetically optimistic as it perforated Kain's brain. _"Maybe, his eyes are red because he's thirsty."_

"Or, maybe, I am angry, Hanabusa." said Kaname in a menacing whisper, still husky from sleep, "You are lucky they are asleep."

Hanabusa hedged, "It was bad joke, Kaname. In poor taste, I admit. Would it make a difference if I said I thought you were asl—"

"—No, it would not. I do not like what you insinuate," interjected Kaname, his eyes fluorescing crimson, now.

Hanabusa paled, realizing a second too late that he had presumed too much.

"He does not know any better," offered Kain halfheartedly, "He did not mean it." As usual, Kain was acting as Hanabusa's lawyer. At least, his cousin's expression was appropriately repentant.

"He must learn quickly or the next few months of his life will be unpleasant," replied Kaname with an enigmatic smile. Kaname's eyes began fading to their natural color, the worst of his anger abating.

Kain and Hanabusa visibly relaxed.

"I really am sorry, Kaname," Hanabusa apologized genuinely.

"Not that they won't be unpleasant anyway," continued Kaname with a dark chuckle, ignoring the apology all together.

Kain and Hanabusa exchanged uncomprehending looks before turning wary eyes back on Kaname.

Hanabusa shuddered, remembering previous punishments. Perhaps, Kaname would force him to wear a bucket on his head... again. Or clean toilets. Or something equally traumatizing.

His long fingers snaking through the sleeping girls' hair, Kaname studied at them thoughtfully. "I have a problem, Hanabusa," said Kaname, "A problem I know you can solve." Though he spoke only one decibel above a whisper, his every word reached them as if he was yelling in their ears.

Hanabusa could not suppress a quiver. Kain remained static with anxiety.

Kaname shifted his gaze to Hanabusa, his expression placid. "You must return to Cross Academy. There, you must enroll in the Day Class. I want you to retrieve… something for me. I want you to bring _it_ back," Kaname said, his tone rigid, his eyes daring Hanabusa to argue.

Kain swiveled to gauge Hanabusa's reaction. As expected, the blond Vampire's bright eyes narrowed briefly before glazing over in thought.

"'Retrieve?' 'Bring it back?'" asked Hanabusa slowly, "Has it been here before?"

Kaname smiled, showing a bit of fang. "You will leave as soon as you are packed. Try to sleep in the car and on the train because you begin Monday," answered Kaname, secretly pleased. Though intrigue would be counterproductive to his demand that the boy maintain a professional distance from Sayori Wakaba, ambiguity would motivate the young genius. Hanabusa loved puzzles.

"Kaname, wouldn't someone else, perhaps Seiren or myself, be better suited to this task?" asked Kain, struck dumb by the whole situation. Regardless of Hanabusa's lack of complaint, Kain disliked the idea of his cousin venturing so far from his protection. Hanabusa was certainly troublesome, but when left to his own devices, he was catastrophic.

Although Kaname could not help overhearing his friends' silent conversations, he avoided intruding upon their minds without their consent. However, Kaname knew, as he had known last night, that verbal communication was too risky. Judging the former to be the lesser of two evils, Kaname spoke in the In-Between, _"There is no one better suited to facilitate this process than Hanabusa. Yuuki's… happiness, my happiness, depends upon Hanabusa's success. So, no, Kain—no one else will do," _projecting his thoughts to all but Yuuki. Kaname cocked his head to the side in a manner which caused Kain to twitch unconsciously. There was no room for negotiation.

Shocked by the soundless answer, Hanabusa's confusion doubled. Rather then quibbling over who did what, Hanabusa wondered why Kaname would resort to the In-Between. The secrecy unnerved him. "I do not understand," Hanabusa said, frowning.

"_Seiren will give you further details when she wakes. Speak of this to no one."_ Kaname glanced at Yuuki meaningfully.

"With all due respect, this is ludicrous. Hanabusa can't—," Kain objected rather loudly.

Yuuki shifted restlessly in Kaname's arms, and Seiren shot up, jolted awake by the volume of Kain's voice.

"Is Mistress alright? Do I need to go get _her_ now?" asked Seiren in obvious alarm. In one motion, she was standing with keys and coat in hand. Her ordinarily pristine appearance was rumpled, her short hair standing up at odd angles from her head.

Kaname caught Seiren's hand and removed the softly clanking keys therein. "No, dear one, she sleeps," assured Kaname, "… though I cannot imagine how." A poorly concealed threat crept into his voice as he returned his attention to the boys before him.

Seiren's eyes, violet in waking, flickered over the two intruders with disapproval.

Even as he remained cognizant of the going on around him, Hanabusa's thoughts spiraled uselessly. _Go get her?_ The notion was preposterous. There were no Vampires left at Cross Academy. No Hunter could possibly contribute to Kaname's "happiness." By process of elimination, that left only humans. A human _come back _here? A human _her_?

Kaname always chose his words with care, any ambiguity therein deliberate. And Seiren's instantaneous panic upon waking was most telling. Seiren was emotionless. What would make her jump to retrieve this missing person like that? The acquisition of some human should not generate such visceral alarm, unless… unless what? Hanabusa did not know.

As Kain's nonplussed expression so eloquently put it: 'What the fuck?'

Mysterious business was afoot.

"Aidou, why do you smile at me that way?" asked Seiren coldly. Her quick eyes missed nothing. Boy-genius took her bait just as she had intended. Her jerky display of worry was well played. Truthfully, Seiren had been awake the entire time. She had even heard the pair gabbing away outside the door.

Seiren turned her head away from said pair and nodded imperceptibly. Kaname responded to her gesture by squeezing to her hand.

Neither Hanabusa nor Kain witnessed the exchange. They were preoccupied by their own soundly communication. Foregoing the In-Between lest they be discovered, they chose a more pragmatic approach.

Kain stuck both hands into his pockets and lifted his shoulders infinitesimally, silently saying he couldn't make heads or tales of the situation and asking if his cousin had. Watching out of the corner of his eye, Hanabusa tilted his head a hairsbreadth to the right then the left: no, he had not.

Kain thinned his lips , barely lifting a brow. The raised eyebrow asked if Hanabusa was alright with all this, and the thinned lips said Kain was definitely not. Hanabusa frowned in annoyance; his cousin worried over him too much.

Hanabusa crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. For now, Hanabusa was going to play along. However, he was not a fool; Hanabusa knew when he was being manipulated. "Well then, I must begin packing for my trip," Hanabusa grinned winningly, "Please, send Yuuki up to say goodbye after she wakes."

He began to walk away, but his retreat was interrupted by a Pureblood cough, "Ahem."

The contours of Hanabusa's mind warbled. A breech, colorless but opaque, cracked the seamless divide between him and the unseen world of thought, feeling, and memory. Struggling to hide discomfort, Hanabusa waited for the shadow voice he knew would follow, for the silent words reserved for him alone. _"Before you go, there are three rules I will articulate to you in person—three rules I must impress upon so that you never break them, Hanabusa. First, you must protect your thoughts from the Hunters; inevitably they will try to invade your mind but you must resist. Second, you must not tell the girl the true purpose of your presence until you have gained her complete trust and faith—she must not run. And third, you must never drink her blood. Not a single drop will pass your lips, or I swear a pain worse than death will greet you upon returning,"_ Kaname promised, his stare piercing the back of Hanabusa's skull.

Hanabusa grimaced, feeling absurdly stupid and exposed. _"The girl must not run?…I do not understand."_

"_But you will. Seiren will explain, and then you will understand my words,"_ replied the shadow voice.

Hanabusa turned one sapphire eye over his shoulder, peering into the face of the Pureblood who dared to invade his inner sanctum. _'Fine, but in regard to the first: if I Shield my mind to that degree, I will unable to communicate with anyone here. I won't be able to risk the In-Between at all."_

There was no purchase to be gained in Kaname's steel gaze; those burgundy orbs offered no answers, no remorse.

But the Noble did not resent the Pureblood on the chaise lounge. Although Kaname demanded Hanabusa's obedience, he had not employed the most feared power; Kaname did not Compel Hanabusa's submission by obliterating his free will.

Kaname was a Pureblood ancestor, but he was also Hanabusa's friend.

Privy to Hanabusa's last thought, Kaname merely nodded.

Hanabusa conceded gracelessly, "_Alright, but you know shielding is weak when sleeping. No one can maintain the effort indefinitely."_

"I know," Kaname said, voice solemn.

Shaking his head, Hanabusa hardened his resolve, stalking out the door and down the hall.

"After I debrief Aidou, I will bring Ichijo back," concluded Seiren. Letting her satisfaction seep into Kaname's soul, she snatched her keys back from him. Seiren crouched down in front of her backpack and removed an unremarkable file.

"Unbelievable!" cried Kain, forgetting to keep his voice down once again.

"So noisy, Sempai. You woke me up!" yawned Yuuki, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

Kaname turned accusingly to Kain, and Seiren froze midway to standing. Twin crimson glares, promising torture and dismemberment, stabbed at Kain in the semidarkness.

Two hours later, Hanabusa commiserated in the privacy of his bedroom-laboratory. It was 1:33 AM according to the antique clock on his dresser, and Hanabusa was feeling especially mutinous.

When he had reached his room, Hanabusa quickly packed everything he owned, throwing his prized possessions pell mell into his trunks. Only 15 minutes after Hanabusa had slammed the last lid shut, his door was unceremoniously swung wide by the lilac haired semi-mute, Seiren.

As Kaname had refused to state the specific purpose of Hanabusa's _trip_, Seiren had come to debrief him. Away from unintended listeners, she revealed the object of his mission: a student named Sayori Wakaba. But because Hanabusa had already deduced that the "it" was a human, a face to validate his suspicion provoked neither alarm nor surprise. With her pronoucement, she gave Hanabusa a file containing further details.

After Seiren had left, Hanabusa laid back on his bed in full travel regalia. His left forearm thrown across his face, rolling the Day Class pin between his fingers, Hanabusa contemplated his impending doom.

According to her outline, Hanabusa would return to Cross Academy under the guise of protectorate, his alleged purpose to prevent an act of vengeance on the Kurans by Night Society. The disguise was believable, even logical. Completely untrue, but still perfectly fine with everyone—but Hanabusa.

The school had recently reopened, and several Hunters were already implanted therein as students and teachers. Kaien Cross was acting as chairman for the time being, but the Hunter Association still considered Cross a suspect element. The Hunter's had "imprisoned" him within his own school. Similarly, the trigger-happy-abomination of an ethics teacher Toga Yagari was stationed there as well. Through his and Cross's machinations, Hanabusa was allowed to rejoin Cross Academy. A letter enclosed in the file Seiren had giving him requested his attendence to a meeting between he, the Chairman, and Wakaba girl. Hanabusa dreaded it.

For the next few months, Hanabusa would be living in hell. He would be awake during the day—rising at dawn, his delicate skin and sensitive eyes subjected to noonday sun for an indefinite period of time.

In addition to that bright horror, Hanabusa would be surrounded by tasty humans. He would sit beside them in toasty classrooms, heated to combat the winter chill. The warmer air would intensify the smell of their soft, juicy bodies. Enticing and delicious, they would surely reach across him to retrieve a forgotten notebook or lean in close to borrow a spare pencil. Encircled by succulent snacks and weakened by sleep deprivation, Hanabusa was supposed resist. Mythological creature though he may be, Hanabusa was not omnipotent.

Still, small torments like exhaustion, sunburn, and starvation were not enough. As if Kaname would not be satisfied until he destroyed Hanabusa's will to live, Hanabusa was forced into perpetual boredom as well. The material the Day Class learned was infantile compared the material he studied. Hanabusa must forsake his genius in exchange for human mediocrity—must pretend to be an ordinary student. Tantamount to blasphemy: placing Hanabusa in a class of simpletons.

The only thing Hanabusa had to hold on to—to buoying himself against truest despair—was the mystery of Sayori Wakaba. And, he clung to that diversion with the fervor of the drowning.

Hanabusa flipped onto his stomach and glared at the manila folder on his nightstand, willing it to reveal its secrets. Seiren had given it to him along with the damned pin. It contained the profile of Sayori Wakaba which Seiren had compiled.

Turning back to stare dolefully at the ceiling, Hanabusa reflected on its contents.

Sayori was the only daughter of a wealth pair of aristocrats and heiress to Wakaba Industries, an affiliate of several Night Society-run corporations. Wakaba Industries main focus was automotive, a leader in the production of luxury automobiles. Sayori was the heir apparent to an economic giant.

And Hanabusa was charged in no uncertain terms to bring the little human here.

In the tactical sense, the situation was dire—an absolute nightmare. Seiren had told him that the girl would be a permanent addition to their group, but the Wakaba girl had strong ties to the human world outside of Cross Academy. Although she was isolated, hundreds of miles from her family, breaking her familial bonds completely would be difficult. Surely, Wakaba had some keepers at home who marked her progress and managed her affairs. As she was an only child, Wakaba was surely at the forefront of her parents' minds. Persuading her to leave that behind would be nigh on impossible.

In addition to the abysmal accommodations and his strategic concerns, Hanabusa had received a list of rules to follow—rules which would limit him further. Kaname was pushing Hanabusa into a corner.

"Master Aidou, I will carry your luggage down to the car. I must inform the driver of your time of departure," said the manservant, louder this time after several failed attempts to get Hanabusa's attention. He appeared oblivious to the butler's presence or, perhaps, was simply ignoring the man.

Brooding, Hanabusa did not answer. He heard the man speaking, but his words were irrelevant. Whatever the butler had said could not compare to Hanabusa's prior conversations tonight, and his mind was consumed by his wretchedness to the exclusion of all else.

"What time will that be?" prompted the nervous butler still louder, practically shouting.

"Hmn... when after I say goodbye to the Princess, I suppose," Hanabusa sighed. As useless a response as any he could have given, but Hanabusa wasn't bothered. If he was for forced into misery, his baggage handler would just have to cope with his vagueness. Misery loved company.

"As you wish, Sir." The servant, eager to depart, bowed himself out with Hanabusa's four suitcases and two rolling trucks, leaving his master alone with his troubled thoughts. The unfortunate driver would just have to wait it out.

Hanabusa did not even notice.

Later, a brisk double-knock broke the mournful silence, and Hanabusa looked to the doorway where his most trusted friend Kain stood, looking rather put out.

Privately, Hanabusa bristled—he was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he had not smelled his cousin coming. That sort of inattention would undo him at Cross Academy.

Measuring Kain's expression, Hanabusa thought it best not to ask. At the moment, Hanabusa was far too cognizant of his own despair to be of any use as a sympathetic listener.

Hanabusa inhaled deeply, replacing his mask of complacency. "I was wondering when you would stop by. Come to wish me farewell?" he asked, conjuring up his brightest smile.

"Something like that. I got caught up painting Yuuki's toenails. Apparently, waking her is a crime," Kain grumbled as plopped down onto the bed beside Hanabusa.

Hanabusa was hard pressed not to laugh. He feigned a coughing fit instead.

Kain did an admirable impression of the ignorant, merely turning away from his cousin to peruse the room. "Very… clean. You must have finished packing already." Kain eyed the empty bookcases and display shelves dubiously, noting the absence of the knickknacks and books which usually littered the space from floor to ceiling. He had hoped Hanabusa wouldn't lug all that detritus shit back to school with him.

"Why, yes, I have. Try to conceal your glee until I leave, okay?" Hanabusa curved his mouth down into a pout.

"Sure, sure. I just wanted to make sure you were really alright with all this." Kain wore a half grin, gesturing vaguely at nothing.

"Awe, don't worry, Mommy. I won't be gone for long." Hanabusa grinned, "Want a kiss goodbye?" He puckered his lips, blue eyes tinkling with mischief.

But Hanabusa's cheer was too crisp, too well played to be genuine.

Kain merely stared his cousin down. "You really expect me to buy the act, Hana?" he asked tonelessly, clearly unmoved.

Hanabusa pretended not to hear. But soon, the silence became unbearable, and Hanabusa knew he had no choice but to answer. He sagged, sighing in defeat. Still, it was strangely comforting to know that Kain always knew when he was lying. But inconvenient all the same.

"Have I told you recently that you need to get laid to relieve all your tension? You're positively dour looking when you make that face," Hanabusa complained—a last stitch effort to avoid the elephant in the room.

"Last night, I think." Kain was often astounded by Hanabusa's desperate evasion. He would spout off anything to avoid talking about his feelings. After all these years, Hanabusa should have realized his ploys were futile. Kain was not fooled. Contrary to Hanabusa's attempts to deceive him, Kain could feel Hanabusa's turmoil as if it was his own.

"And yet, you're as pure as virgin snow," concluded Hanabusa, hefting himself up on an elbow.

"Hyperbole. Another habit of yours," Kain replied as he spied his reflection in the mirror over Hanabusa's dresser. The temperature in the room rose a degree or two.

Hanabusa felt shallow triumph, but knew he could only hold Kain off for so long. "No need to pout. I was only saying—"

Kain cut across him, "—You're only doing what you always do. I get too close, and you start spitting venom."

"Ouch," winced Hanabusa, visibly cowed.

"_Current score: Hanabusa 0, Kain 50_," quipped Kain in the In-Between, his smugness palpable.

"Enjoy your moment of glory. They're few and far between," Hanabusa bristled. With a pang, he realized that Kain's mind would be unreachable after he left for Cross Academy.

Hanabusa heaved a long-suffering sigh and shut his eyes in surrender. "Okay, okay… So, this is going to be unbearably awful," he began, the rest pouring out in a torrent, "I'm going to be up all fucking day, downing blood tablets like candy because I'm up to my eyeballs in humans, and lying to everyone about everything. I have to watch my back every minute so the damned Hunters don't break into my brain, and, no doubt, I'll have a gabble of females to add irritation to the horror." There was more to it than that, but Hanabusa going to share it—because the nature of his central anxiety was rooted in an unmentionable insecurity. Hanabusa did not want anyone, not even his best friend, to know he was capable of failing Kaname.

However, the tenure of Hanabusa's worry showed in his expression or the soul-deep bond they shared because Kain's wore a rare smile. "And..." he prodded, poking his cousin in the side good-naturedly.

Hanabusa studied the school pin in his hand, pensive for a long moment. Then, he grimaced hopelessly, "I'm not… confident that I can do this." He glared at his cousin, "Happy, now? Satisfied?"

"A bit," Kain shrugged, reaching out to ruffle Hanabusa's hair.

Kain could empathize. Kaname had a habit of asking the impossible from his peers because nothing was impossible for him. At times, Kaname seemed to forget that his friends had lives of their own—that they weren't pawns to be shuffled around at his leisure. Kain considered himself the most unfortunate member of their "club" because his most precious people were the most devoted Kaname worshipers. Because Ruka and Hanabusa held Kaname in such lofty esteem, they were easily manipulated and abused. But, what more could Kain do than wait, with steady hands and superglue, to put them back together every time Kaname broke them?

"Dammit, watch the hair. My world may be sinking into the abyss of hell, but I might survive if my hair looks alright," Hanabusa whined, batting Kain's hand away.

Steering the conversation away from weighty topics, Kain inquired, "So, what is it you have to get from Cross Academy?"

Hanabusa laughed bitterly. "A girl!"

Kain blinked. Then, he stared off into space for a few seconds, fuming.

"Absolute bullshit," Hanabusa agreed, misinterpreting his cousin's ire.

Kain bristled, outraged, "So, what—Kaname's sending you to kidnap a helpless little girl? No wonder, he didn't ask me…I'd tell him to go to hell." Kain stood, his face red and posture tense.

Hanabusa shook his head violently, his hands held out in the universal sign for stop. "It's not like that," he rambled, "Kaname wouldn't… _I_ wouldn't do that. You know I wouldn't do that."

Kain turned on him, incredulous, "How _is_ it, then, Hanabusa? Because I don't really see how it could be any less… _repugnant_ than that!" Kain only used his cousin's first name in front of others or when he was extremely angry.

Hanabusa winced, groping for words, "Well, I'm suppose to… _convince_ her to come here. You know—show her we're not so bad. And then… I'll ask her to return with me." He grabbed Kain's arm, eyes pleading with him to understand, "Kain, she can say no. I won't force her. I wouldn't force anyone."

Kain hummed noncommittally, looking more doubtful than Hanabusa would have liked.

"_Please, don't do this. I'm leaving in a few hours,"_ Hanabusa said as he dragged his cousin into the In-Between, _"Look into my mind, Kain. I can't lie to you here; you know I am telling the truth."_ Kain stared into space for several seconds, then he nodded once, and Hanabusa pulled away with a silent thank you.

Kain cleared his throat, trying to relax, trying for equanimity, "… Do I know her?"

Smiling in relief, grateful for the reprieve, Hanabusa pointed to a folder on his nightstand with more enthusiasm than the gesture warranted, saying, "Doubt it."

Likewise, Kain grabbed the file with more force than the action required; he opened it to find a large picture of _the girl_, a list of basic information, and something that looked like a report. He began pacing back and forth in front of the bed, while Hanabusa sat cross-legged on his bed, fiddling with his school pin again.

"'Sayori Wakaba. Sixteen," Kain read in a professional drawl, "5 feet 1/2 inch tall. Brown eyes. Auburn hair. Slight build. 93 pounds 4 ounces." Kain scratched his nose, adding, "Little bitty thing, isn't she?"

Shaking off his digressing thoughts, Kain cleared his throat, "Ranked 1st in the Day Class. Interests: cars, books. No extracurricular activities."

"Pretty dull, if you ask me," Hanabusa huffed. After a moment, he amended, "Except the bit about the cars."

Kain rolled his eyes, "Hana, you can't even drive."

Hanabusa shrugged, smirking. "But, _I'm a __genius_. I'll learn."

Hanabusa behind the wheel was an invitation to vehicular homicide. Kain frowned, hazel eyes narrowed. Then, he hit Hanabusa over the head with the file.

Hanabusa winced, face red, "Or not."

Kain smirked, _"Current score: Kain 100, Hanabusa 0."_ Sobering, he turned back the papers in his hand. "She is not one of the girls who would line up to watch us change classes, so she's not ridiculous," he noted approvingly, "And she is Yuuki's friend, so she must be a kind person... she's smart for a human, so she must have a few things in common with you."

Kain rubbed his temples with his free hand, not quite believing he was doing this. "Perhaps your best approach is reciprocation—give a little and get a little. Build from there," suggested Kain with a gormless expression—giving Hanabusa _girl advice_ was unprecedented; it put him in a queer mood.

"Flip to page 17 paragraph three," Hanabusa grumbled, scrunching his nose. Of all the useless suggestions, Kain's had to be the most unimaginative. Hanabusa did not want to "give a little." For all the noise he made, Hanabusa did not enjoy sharing his feelings or thoughts with others.

When Kain had found the aforementioned passage, Hanabusa began to recite from memory, "Sayori Wakaba writes in her diary, '_I do not want to befriend a monster, but I don't want to think my best friend is a monster either. So, I resolve to remember Yuuki as she was. I have said my goodbye, and I wish her happiness in her new life. Now, I have to let her go'_… blah, blah, blah.'"

"Why'd you ask me to find the page if you memorized the damn thing?" asked Kain, irritably.

His distress earnest, Hanabusa replied, "I only flipped through the file briefly, but that isn't the point. My point being: the girl is predisposed to suspicion. The probability of her compliance is slim. She's more likely to despise me than trust me."

"Who did you get this from?" asked Kain, diverting his cousin as he skimmed page after page of Sayori Wakaba's most intimate thoughts. It made him feel like a voyeur.

"Seiren. She summarized the information from a variety of sources—school transcripts, health records, her journals, and letters between she and multiple correspondents… Seiren added insights from observing the girl. It's meticulously detailed, but with certain glaring holes..." Hanabusa trailed off, reaching for some illusive conclusion.

"A rather large, suspicious hole, isn't it?" said Kain as he closed the folder and replaced it on Hanabusa's nightstand.

"What is?" asked Hanabusa, only half listening.

Kain, grasping at straws, wrinkled his forehead. "Seiren compiled an incomplete history. Where was the girl born? When? The first five, six years of her life are glossed over as if nothing relevant happened. I find that hard to believe."

"Perhaps, no definitive record of her babyhood survives or Seiren could not access those records. As you know well, the wealthy are notoriously tightlipped. Regardless, Seiren must not believe those particulars are necessary to achieve our ends," Hanabusa reasoned although he was not wholly convinced. Seiren was nothing if not resourceful and thorough; the idea that any information was out of Seiren's reach was absurd. So, she was withholding facts purposely. The missing years in the provided text must contain information Kaname did not want Hanabusa to have.

"Pst. Seiren seems to think the girl's journals—her _private _journals—are necessary. Most of this shit has nothing to do with us," argued Kain, pointing at the file accusingly.

Hanabusa smiled fondly at his cousin. An insight abruptly apparent. The Wakaba girl's childhood was a striking parallel to Yuuki's—they shared shadowed pasts. But instead of clarity, this new twist raised a host of other questions.

The In-Between ringing with Hanabusa's exhilaration, the thrill of discovery, Kain remarked dimly_, "Current score: Kain 100, Hanabusa 50."_

"Sometimes, I wonder what it would feel like to be stupid," said Hanabusa wistfully. Still, he hid the exact nature of his thoughts from Kain with mental barriers of thick ice. Hanabusa would hold his silence, preferring to keep his suspicions to himself for now.

"I think the prospect of prolonged sun exposure has addled your brain," laughed Kain. He gave his cousin a final pat on the shoulder before turning to walk to the door.

"See you, Hana," said Kain simply. He closed the door soundlessly.

Hanabusa stuffed his pin in his pocket and pulled the accursed file off his nightstand to reread the last two pages on which Kaname had written a list of rules.

_'#1. The contents of this file are strictly confidential. All other information provided to or gathered by you that in any way pertains to your mission is inappropriate for disclosure to anyone save Seiren or I for the duration. No allowances (Excepting Kain Akatsuki as you seem incapable of keeping secrets from him).'_

Hanabusa smirked. He never had much regard for confidentiality or rules. He trusted Kain implicitly. And Kaname knew that, so, short Compelling Hanabusa's silence, there was little Hanabusa would not tell Kain.

'#_2. The true objective of your presence at Cross Academy is likewise confidential. Barring those who are already aware of its true nature, the guise of guardian to the Day Class students and faculty must be maintained at all costs.'_

'#3_. In the unlikely event that Yuuki or any other Pureblood exerts Compulsion or a Hunter exerts deadly force to extract confidential information from you, I ask that you employ any means available to dissuade the questioner (lie, attack, escape, etc.) before divulging said information.'_

The idea of Yuuki Compelling anyone to do anything made Hanabusa grin.

_'#4. Unless otherwise instructed, you must not discuss your objective with Sayori Wakaba until the probability of her compliance exceeds the risk of her refusal. Bringing her here against her will is not unacceptable.'_

'#_5_. _When the situation is auspicious or I deems decisive action wanting, you must return with __her__ to Kuran House without delay. Upon arrival, further objectives of a related nature will be disclosed to all affected parties__.'_

Considering these rules carefully, Hanabusa hit a metaphorical brick wall. "Decisive action?" What the fuck could warrant decisive action? It was just a little human girl.

Hanabusa's prodigious skills of deduction led him to believe Sayori Wakaba's presence was sorely wanted—perhaps, needed. Otherwise, why gather all this intelligence and devise a lavish scheme to convince her come here?

Begrudgingly, Hanabusa acknowledged that further contemplation of the unfathomable was moot. Without additional information, he could make no further progress.

Flipping to the second page, Hanabusa read the last four rules doubtfully. These were not written in the same mode as previous five. Rather, these last four rules were guidelines for proper conduct. A starred note in the margin suggested Hanabusa hang these rules in the back of his closet or on his bathroom mirror so he would not forget them. Obviously, Kaname wanted to preempt Hanabusa's oft used excuse, "out of sight, out of mind."

_#6. You will attend classes promptly and without fail for the duration of your membership to the Day Class._

_#7. You will be cordial and receptive to your Hunter counterparts for the duration of your membership to the Day Class. Implicit to this request is the expectation of a similar manner and regard from said Hunters. In the event that violence is brought upon from that quarter, I ask that you to use your most circumspect judgment before responding. _

_#8. You will engage in respectable and respectful relationships with your peers for the duration of your membership to the Day Class._

_#9. You will not bleed a single human, complicit or otherwise, for the duration of your membership to the Day Class. (This includes _her_.) _

If there ever was ever a mystery tailored to Hanabusa's tastes, then this had to be it—intrigue, deception, conspiracy and a girl. And despite his many and significant misgivings, Hanabusa felt anticipation. How odd.

"Sempai? May I come in?" asked a soft voice from the other side of Hanabusa's door.

Hanabusa's eyes flew wide. How could he have forgotten that Yuuki was coming? How could he have failed to hear or smell her coming?

"Hold on a second!" yelped Hanabusa, scrambling to gather the papers he had strewn out over his bed, "Count to 10, then come in."

After collecting the offending pile and stuffing them unceremoniously into a random drawer, Hanabusa turned to greet Yuuki, who was standing in the doorway.

A queer look on her sleepy face, she flushed.

Hanabusa inventoried himself quickly. He was still wearing his traveling clothes. Nothing seemed amiss or out of place.

"What's with the face, Cross? You're a bit pinkish," asked Hanabusa, puzzled.

In answer, Yuuki crouched down by the corner of his bed, lifting photograph of her best friend, Sayori Wakaba, off the floor.

Hanabusa reddened, inwardly cursing.

"You dropped..." trailed Yuuki awkwardly as she handed the photo to a red-faced Hanabusa.

"It's not what you think!" Hanabusa practically threw the picture onto his nightstand in his haste to get it out of his hands.

The picture landed face up.

After recovering from her initial embarrassment, Yuuki considered the scene. Hanabusa seemed frazzled, wrong footed, mortified. A picture of Sayori had been hidden under his bed.

Yuuki smiled knowingly, the first unhindered smile she could remember wearing for days. Her inexplicable illness had curtailed her natural jubilance, and her lover's recent secrecy was worrisome. However, this new development explained some of the strange events happening around her. This discovery put her nerves at ease, made her almost giddy with amusement.

"Don't worry, Hanabusa, I won't tell anyone. It will be our secret." Yuuki mimed zipping her mouth shut.

Hanabusa's only reaction was horror. Whoever was in charge must really hate him—want him to suffer all manners of torture before dying an excruciating but welcome death.

"I wondered why you'd run off to Cross Academy so unexpectedly. When Brother told me your plans, I admit I was troubled," rambled Yuuki, "I thought he might be keeping something from me, but now I understand.". She walked around Hanabusa's shell-shocked form to his nightstand. There, Yuuki stood stroking Sayori's picture with affectionate fingertips. "I really miss Yori. She's such a wonderful person," said Yuuki softly. Her burgundy eyes hazed with memories of less complicated times.

"I'm sure she misses you, too, Cross," Hanabusa mummbled, trying to figure out a way to turn this conversation to his advantage. If Hanabusa was to be subjected to the false assumption that he fancied the Wakaba girl, then the least he could ask for was some desperately needed information. Hanabusa sat down on the edge of his bed, regarding Yuuki shrewdly.

"I know she does," responded Yuuki, an unreadable emotion in her voice.

"How?" asked Hanabusa, his attention immediately drawn.

Yuuki smiled at him sadly. "I'm not sure really, but when I look at this picture I just know she feels lonely. That doesn't make much sense, does it?"

"No," agreed Hanabusa with a grin, "It doesn't." He watched Yuuki as her eyes flit from the picture to his face and back again, her expression speculative.

"_What?_" he asked apprehensively. Hanabusa knew that look—that look always preceded something truly fearsome. Yuuki only wore that face when she got madcap ideas like helping the staff clean the house. As things currently stood, Hanabusa needed to maintain full brain power; he could not afford to sacrifice a single synapse to the noxious fumes of cleaning products.

"I know why you like her, that's all," said Yuuki. She turned adoring eyes down to Sayori's picture again. She traced Sayori's hair with feather-light fingers as if she could penetrate the paper and feel the texture of those auburn locks.

Yuuki could understand why anyone would like Sayori. Not only was she pretty and smart, she was intuitive and genuine—decent. Each quality, rare and profound in its own way, converged to create a gentle, contemplative being.

Sayori had soothed Yuuki in the most trying times. When everyone else demanded something of Yuuki—blood, commitment, acceptance, love—Sayori was always giving. Giving Yuuki guidance. Giving Yuuki space. Giving Yuuki compassion. Sayori watched from the sidelines while Yuuki and her counterparts took center stage, always supporting and loving Yuuki, her quiet strength promising safe harbor.

A most trusted ally, so true to her name.

Leaving Sayori—loosing _Yori_—was not like leaving the Chairman or Zero. They knew the reasons Yuuki had to leave. But Sayori didn't.

Sayori had found the courage to say goodbye because they both knew their friendship was unsustainable. Sayori was human, destined to do human things and live a human life. There was no place in the Night for her best friend. Sayori was too full of light.

"She is one of the most admirable people I will ever know," whispered Yuuki, her eyes glittering with tears.

"Do you really think so much of her?" asked Hanabusa. He had never heard Yuuki speak about anyone this way. Yuuki loved Kaname. She had loved Zero, and Hanabusa believed a part of Yuuki always would. But, they were her equals. Yuuki understood them, protected them. Yuuki was always doing for them as though they would crumble without her—like every night she woke merely to save them from themselves.

But the tears in Yuuki's eyes spoke of something different. She seemed to regard that innocuous photograph with reverence.

Yuuki whispered, more to herself than Hanabusa, "I think a great deal of her. Yori... she never needed me the same way everyone else does. She never wanted anything more from me than my friendship. I… I often overlooked her. But she...Yori never held that against me... even if she should have, she never held that against me." Yuuki hung her head.

"I'm sure she has her parents or other friends to take care of her," said Hanabusa bracingly. He felt awkward; he was uncomfortable around emotional females. It felt wrong to manipulate Yuuki when she was in such a state. It was unfair to abuse her affection for this "Yori" person.

Yuuki grabbed the photograph and sat beside Hanabusa on his bed. She placed the picture on her lap, smoothing the edges unnecessarily, and leaned her head onto Hanabusa's forearm, taking a deep breath.

Yuuki decided that if Hanabusa liked Sayori enough to keep a picture of her hidden under his bed—enough to return to Cross Academy to protect her—then he was worthy of whatever information she could share. Even if it hurt to think about Sayori, Yuuki would try her best to educate him.

After all, only the very best would ever do for her best friend.

Yuuki smiled sadly, explaining, "Actually, Yori doesn't allow people to take care of her. She doesn't talk about her parents much, and I have only met them twice because they are abroad a lot. They send her presents and the occasional card or letter, but their relationship is distant. She was adopted at a young age, only five or so, but she has always seemed like a mini adult. They try to dote on her, but Yori's just too independent."

Hanabusa filed that piece of information away before asking, "No other friends?" .

"Yori has no patience for immaturity, " said Yuuki, stifling a giggle as she remembered the arguments Sayori had instigated between she and Zero. "Yori has a talent for brutal honesty, saying things better left unsaid. The other students are intimated, I think. They respect her, but they don't see her as a close friend," clarified Yuuki.

Hanabusa mustered up a nervous gulp, pleased to feel a flush creep across his cheeks. He had a part to play. "And no… boyfriends?"

Yuuki laughed beautifully, "Nope, no boyfriends. She has high expectations for herself and so she has high expectation of others. She may find this boy or that boy appealing, but it never goes beyond that."

Yuuki's tone annoyed Hanabusa. He wondered if Yuuki thought Sayori Wakaba was too good for him. Emboldened by his wounded pride, he asked "So, what do I have to do to sweep her off her feet?" He gave Yuuki a nudge.

"No idea!" Yuuki grinned, trying to put Hanabusa and Sayori together in her mind but failing miserably.

"Well, you're no help at all, Tiny Cross!" Hanabusa pouted.

"Just be yourself and try not to think so much. Brother is wrong, love isn't a game to be won or lost," parried Yuuki, "Planning to all out—there's no romance in that. You can't map it out beforehand." She repaid Hanabusa's nudge by jabbing his ribs with her elbow.

Hanabusa nearly gagged at the irony.

"You'll look out for her regardless, won't you, Sempai?" asked Yuuki, smiling tremulously and peering up at him through long lashes. Yuuki hoped Hanabusa would not treat Sayori poorly if she rejected him.

"I'll keep a close eye on her the whole time," promised Hanabusa with a sincere grin. At least, that was true... sort of.

Yuuki rubbed her nose affectionately into his shirt sleeve, realizing how much she would miss him. "It will be awfully boring without you here, Hana."

"_Hana_, huh? I'm glad I'm leaving before that one catches on. Kain only calls me that when no one else can hear him. If everyone starts calling me that, I might just lose my _cool_," Hanabusa quipped. As an afterthought, he added, "It's awful boring _with_ me here, anyway."

"That's a terrible pun," Yuuki noted softly. With every second, Hanabusa's arm felt more like a pillow.

"Surprised you know what a pun is, Cross. I keep forgetting you aren't stupid anymore." Hanabusa wrapped his arm around her sleepy body.

"You're so mean," whined Yuuki half-heartily. She had only been awake for two or three hours, but she was so tired, so thirsty. She would have to feed later.

"Maybe you're too nice. Ever thought about it that way?" asked Hanabusa, laughing softly.

"Nope. I still say you're mean," she whispered.

Quitting their petty argument, Hanabusa eyed her shaky form suspiciously. "You need blood, Yuuki."

"True," Yuuki yawned, the conversation evolving oddly in her groggy mind, "Yori would taste nice."

Hanabusa frowned; they had talked about Sayori Wakaba, nice verses mean, and being thirsty, but he had not made the cerebral jump to combining the three topics. Still, he was morbidly curious. Shrugging, he asked, "What do you think she would taste like?"

Yuuki slurred drunkenly, "… like the sun."

Then she surrendered to sleep.

So much for soliciting helpful information from the Pureblood Princess. Her answer was incomprehensible. Hanabusa commiserated his bad luck, wondering why his friends gave him only useless answers.

Hanabusa shifted Yuuki's weight carefully, rotating her body 90 degrees, laying her head on his pillow. Kaname would collect her later.

After fishing out his disorganized stash of papers from the drawer and encasing them in their folder, Hanabusa stuffed the abused file into his shoulder bag. He rummaged around its compartments until he found his small vial of white pills. Getting a glass of water from his bathroom, Hanabusa placed two of the blood tablets and the cup on the nightstand.

Hanabusa turned to take one last look at his empty bedroom before leaving.

That silly photograph had fallen to the floor again. This time, it lay face down, forgotten on the floor. He reached down and turned it over, trying to merge his memory of the brave girl who had defended him months ago to Yuuki's idealize image of her beloved childhood friend.

Sayori's face was heart shaped, her nose delicately upturned. Her autumn eyes were overlarge, her mouth disproportionately small. Her bone structure was fragile, breakable.

Hanabusa had seen all of that before, but, now, he could discern other features as well. Sayori's gaze was direct, her lips curved up in a diligent imitation of a smile. Sayori's short auburn hair hugged her face.

Perhaps, there was more to Sayori Wakaba than wide-eyed innocence.

Nodding to himself, Hanabusa placed the photograph next to the pills and the water carefully.

Switching the light, Hanabusa walked over the threshold and stepped into the hall. He left the door open just a crack, unwilling to leave her in the dark.

* * *

**Relavant Information Corner: **I have very little to say about this chapter. A lot of characterization. A lot of dialog. A lot of build up. A great deal of changes from the original version.

On to the next:

1) **Kain** – (Double accomplished, golden man)

2) **Hanabusa - **(Petals of a flower)

3)**Rima **– (Reach/stroke jasmine) *appropriate considering her relationship to Senri as jasmine often blooms at night, and she really has to "reach" to touch him.

4) **Ruka** – (A beautiful blue flower)

5) **Senri** - (A great distance) * a future reference to the pattern of the Kuran's names which I will not explain now.

Adieu, Mare

R&R


	4. Shades Of Gray

No rights to VK.

**Song – Runway by Yeah Yeah Yeahs**

Enjoy!

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"_I was feeling sad,  
Can't help looking back,  
Highways flew by,  
Run, run, run away,  
No sense of time,  
Want you to stay,  
Want to keep you inside._

_Run, run, run away,  
Lost, lost, lost my mind,  
Want you to stay,  
Want you to be my prize."_

"17... 18... 19..."

Her east facing picture window was open, the curtains drawn back. It was almost 7 o'clock, just after dawn, and the rising sun, barely visible behind the clouds, threw the texture of the walls into sharp relief.

A pajama clad Sayori Wakaba lay upside down on her bed, counting the number of faces she could divine out of the bumps in the besiege ceiling paint.

Sayori would not close the window though the breeze was frigid, ice and snow creeping from the sill into her room. Maybe, she was waiting for Yuuki to dash in through that window, begging Sayori to close it while she changed for morning lessons. Yuuki had always dashed in through that window.

But Yuuki wasn't going to do that this morning or any future morning. Sayori had accepted that.

And yet, the damned window remained open.

Sayori gave up her bland game and looked over at the clock on her sidetable. "7:03," she told the room at large, nearly growling at the unresponsive walls.

Normally, Sayori would have been out of bed, showered, brushed, and dressed by now, but today she forwent her routine. Sayori had an appointment with the Chairman at 8:15, so there was no need to rush. If she finished too quickly; she'd end up having to wait—a risk she would not take.

These days, unoccupied time was the enemy, and games like "imagine faces in the wall texture" were her friends. Idling was an invitation to misery, and Sayori was not a masochist. She found no glory in self-mutilation. Pain, of all sorts, was to be subverted by any means.

But over the last few months, Sayori had discovered that grief had a strange way of inserting itself in every aspect of her life no matter how many faces she found. Ignoring her pain had unforeseen consequences, and, now, Sayori lived in a constant state of numbness.

Instead fighting emotional paralysis, Sayori courted it. She developed a practical method to aide the oblivion lest she feel the full weight of her grief. As long as Sayori adhered to three basic principles of evasion: if she remained mindless, distracted, and hidden from the world and herself, Sayori found anesthetized peace. So, she was perpetually shallow in her thoughts, diverted by the most mundane things, and separated from her peers at all times—just to avoid the gaping hole her life had become.

Sayori woke up exactly 45 minutes before classes started so she had to scramble to get there on time. Mindless—check. Sayori made word-perfect transcripts of her lessons rather than notes or outlines. When her mind was thus employed, Sayori had no room in her head for other, less pleasant thoughts. Diverted—check. Sayori ate her meals in the library, one hand poised over her papers, her head jammed in a book. She could think of no one willingly to brave that labyrinth of dusty tomes just to seek her out. Separated—check.

Sayori avoided her life of nothingness by essentially becoming nothing. Everywhere Sayori went, the numbness followed like a transient cage. Her cage was kind compared to the alternative—the silence where there had been laughter, the blank space where her friends had stood, the bitter loneliness where there had once been love. Sayori systematically drained all the color from her world—black, white, and gray were easier to process than the bloody reds and lonesome blues Yuuki left in her wake.

The only place Sayori could not delude herself was her dorm room: the place where the gray bars of her cage crumbled and the vengeful pain exacted its revenge. So, here, she found faces on the walls to avoid the faces in her memories. Nighttime was the worst part of her day, the bane of her colorless stupor, because sleep did not come easily.

Sayori began having trouble sleeping night before Yuuki left. It had seemed a small thing at the time. In the midst of the chaos, Sayori had disregarded reluctant sleep as merely par for the course. But, her problem had persisted over the weeks that followed. By the time school resumed, difficulty falling asleep progressed to full blown insomnia; she was lucky to sleep just a few short hours in wee morning. Instead of two or three nights a week, Sayori suffered restlessness four or five of them. In recent weeks, only true exhaustion, nearly falling unconscious under its weight, could drag Sayori into slumber. So severe was her agitation, sometimes Sayori imagined a dark premonition assaulting her in the night.

Nights without any sleep at all were becoming commonplace, and Sayori didn't have Yuuki's bubbliness or Zero's too-cool-to-breathe-the-same-air-as-you demeanor to offset her puffy, bruised eyes or snail paced movements.

Believing her room was to blame, Sayori ran away from it. Her need to escape the vacant room annulled constraints like curfew or grounds confinement. Although Sayori wasn't a born rule breaker, her emotion undermined her principles in the same way her evasion negated her grief; it turned what had once been clearly defined to shades of gray, and the line between always right and always wrong blurred to right for the wrong reasons and wrong for the right ones.

Her absentminded parents had giving her a car over break, not the wisest decision but Sayori was grateful. She had named the shiny thing "Salvation." Its bucket seats, aerodynamic curves, and purring 6 cylinder engine allowed Sayori to outpace the empty hole, leaving the numbness to eat her dusk. A moonlight drive through the countryside at 120 miles per hour was only thing that felt _real_—the only thing that mattered in a world where nothing mattered anymore.

But Sayori couldn't sneak off very often, so relief was hard to come by.

Grimacing in self-disgust, Sayori checked at her clock again: only 7:05. Something must be wrong with her clock; it seemed to count slower and slower these days. Maybe, it, too, was against her.

At least today would not be as boring as yesterday. Sayori had a positive feeling about today's meeting, or as positive as she was capable of—just a modicum above apathy.

Before this meeting, Chairman Cross had asked her to stop by the entrance gate at 8 sharp. He was expecting a returning student and had asked Sayori to escort him to the main office. Apparently, the mystery student would attend her meeting as well.

That's right, the student was a _him_. Maybe the smaller portion of the hole in her life would be refilled today. Zero might have changed his mind—foregoing a life of solitary misery in favor of a life at school where people loved him. The Chairman and Mr. Yagari had gone looking for Zero; perhaps, they had finally convinced him to come home. Maybe, Zero was on his way right now.

Sayori desperately hoped so. It was selfish, cruel even, but Sayori wished someone close by was mourning Yuuki more deeply than she was. If Zero came back, Sayori would forget about her own grief, focusing on his instead. Color might return to the world; rules might mean something again. Seeing someone else in pain did that to Sayori; it made her less self-aware.

With a pang, Sayori realized that she had begun to think of Yuuki as though her friend was dead. And in so many way, the idea had merit. Sayori could not decide which thought was the worst.

Pushing that grim insight beyond the bars, Sayori gathered her clothes and shower caddy.

The day was calling.

Sayori lavished herself with a private shower. All the other girls had left the dorms already, so Sayori had the entire bathroom to herself. She, in her colorless robe, brushed her teeth and blow-dried her hair. Sayori noted that the ends of her hair had grown down past her ears and her bangs covered her eyes; she needed a trim, but why bother?

Sayori scanned her expression briefly. She looked dour.

Sayori deposited her dirty laundry in the hamper and used floss in the trash without looking. She threw on her undergarments and uniform. Then, Sayori walked back to her room and shut the door.

Sayori wasn't sure how it managed the feat, but her malevolent bedroom got her every time. Every time she walked in, Sayori would look over to Yuuki's side of the room to see if she was there. But Yuuki never was, and it still stung each and every time. It should have ceased to shock her by now; she should have grown strong enough to repress the shock. However, the room would not relent.

Even the walls were mocking her. 'Great, just swell!' thought Sayori. Personification of wood and plaster, the solitude was eroding her sanity.

Sayori ran a hand through her whatever-colored hair as she walked to her dresser. There on its polished surface, Sayori had unintentionally built a shrine to her lost friends. Friendship bracelets, hair ties, scribbled notes—they were all there in a box with a picture frame lid. The picture inside the frame was one Sayori had found in Yuuki's bedroom in the Chairman's quarters—a photograph of Yuuki and Zero on their first day of high school. Sayori preferred their expressions in that picture to the ones they had worn towards the end. They were normal in it, a snapshot of the world when it still made sense. Of course, Sayori wasn't in the photograph, but what did that matter? She had taken the photo, felt as much a part of it as Yuuki and Zero.

Denying the ache, Sayori reached across the box for her academy pin and the prefect sleeve she had inherited from Yuuki. If she had been willing to think on it critically, Sayori would have appreciated the irony. How many times had she wished she could be a prefect with Yuuki and Zero? How many times had she wished that she could be in on the secret, too?

Sayori smiled mechanically at her reflection as she centered her tie with daft hands.

The queer thing about secrets—something no one had bothered to mention to Sayori—was that they are lonesome burdens. When Sayori was still on the outside the big secret, she had taken comfort in the fact that she was just one of countless other ignorant people. Sayori had even felt a bit smug because she knew there _was_ a secret, like she was one clever step ahead of her peers.

But, now, Sayori was the sole civilian keeper of a secret gone stale. She was the only student at Cross Academy who knew the true identity of the Night Class.

The day Sayori discovered truth was etched in her memory in a manner similar to carving into granite; it could not be erased merely because the medium was unwilling. Sayori had hoped time would dull the images of that day, wear them down until nothing remained but a faint outline. But time was unkind.

The nightmare became real the same day Sayori became a cynic; one day of ugly truth threw all other perceived truths into doubt. She doubted a great many things, now.

Sayori doubted Vampires—doubted their ability to coexist with their natural prey.

As if the existence of make-believe monsters was not enough to upend Sayori's world, her human brethren betrayed her trust by attempting to obliterate the truth. Before being sent home for a "vacation of indefinite length," the students and faculty of Cross Academy were herded into the main auditorium. There, some bearded man from a group called the Hunter's Association erased their memories. But he wasn't very thorough. He couldn't be bothered to remove the Night Class from their memories entirely. No, the cerebral-rapist stole the only meaningful feature of the Night Class away, leaving the other brainless aspects to fester. Then, the school's inhabitants were sent on their merry ways, each one marveling at the property damage caused by a curiously localized earthquake. Her peers were truly dim.

That day, Sayori began to doubt humanity as well—to doubt their ethics and wonder at their stupidity.

It only took one day to prove that Vampires were real, Hunters were unscrupulous, and humans were stupid—the day Yuuki and Zero had left Sayori behind. The universe as Sayori had always known it was a lie, and it seemed to her that everyone alive was a liar.

On a more personal level, Sayori began to doubt herself, too. The mindsweep had not affected her at all; she still remembered every detail of that frightful day and the ominous ones which had preceded it. Like the inscribed stone, each detail remained pristine. And no one could tell her why.

Sayori checked the time again, relieved to see that she could leave her room without the fearsome threat of a long wait once she reached her destination. As long as she didn't take any shortcuts, Sayori would make it to the gate with only a minute or so to spare.

Sayori pulled on her snow boots, her coat and scarf, then her earmuffs and gloves blindly. Then, Sayori walked out of the Sun Dorm and into the winter cold, moving like she had places to be. No one gave her a sideways glance. It was just that way these days. Sayori had always been remote in some inexplicable way, but now she was downright unapproachable. Sayori couldn't find it in herself to care, though. It helped with the whole mindless, distracted, separated thing.

When Sayori reached the gate, she sat down on the brick retaining wall. The sun was hiding behind the low, gray clouds. It was snowing lightly, but her spot was wisely chosen, the overhang of an adjacent oak shielding her from the wet, white stuff.

Sayori grimaced; she did not like snow. Actually, she hated it.

Sayori sat there for a moment, bored, but the realization that she was waiting—with nothing but her thoughts for company—hit her hard. Sayori glanced around, searching for a distraction but none of her favorites were forthcoming. Then, to her immense relief, she caught sight of the shiny black sedan with tinted windows rolling up the long drive. Now, there was a distraction: Cars.

Sayori smiled; she liked cars. Actually, she loved them.

Her family owned Wakaba Industries, one of the largest automotive manufactures in the world. Her adoptive parents had sent Sayori pricey gismos as a substitute for their love all her life. Of all her gifts, Sayori's favorite was the two-door roadster received over winter break.

Careful scrutiny of the automobile kept Sayori's anxiety to a manageable level. The car meandered to a gentle stop before the iron wrought gates, giving no indication of the student in the car's identity. A suited, efficient looking driver wearing sunglasses despite the overcast weather stepped out of the car. He closed the driver side door with a crisp snap and began moving to the back of the car.

Sayori's tiny bubble of hope burst in the span of two seconds. Zero would rather walk a thousand miles than have some fancy chauffeur open the door for him. Zero was not in that car, and it hurt like hell—broke through the bars and inflamed the hole in her heart.

Sayori stood stiffly and walked to open the gate, taking a deep breath in preparation. Then she turned to greet her guest. Sayori caught sight of the familiar, blond head of Hanabusa Aidou dragging his sleepy body out of the car, and she froze in horror; this was the worst possible scenario.

Of the Night Class students, Hanabusa was the only one she hated. Everything about him grated her nerves, but more profound than dislike, his presence had always rattled her because his eyes held her deepest secret. And here he stood to thrust her lonely, silent life into hell.

Sayori woke up this morning hoping for minor relief from her holey heart, but instead she got a headache to match. She turned away quickly, focusing on the driver instead. "Nice car. A Prestige LZ12 isn't it?" Sayori asked him flatly.

"Er...yes, it is," answered the driver, obviously unsure if he should speak to her.

"Yes, I'm human," said Sayori with false bravado, "So, it's alright. I'm not going to bite you." No humor touched her eyes, but that mattered little. Sayori never missed the opportunity to speak unspoken truths, especially now, when truth seemed so hard to come by.

She turned her attention reluctantly Hanabusa who was regarding her interest. Noticing his hair for the first time, Sayori almost laughed. On one side, it was pressed flat against his skull as if glued there, on the other it flipped up at odd angles as if he had been electrocuted.

"Sayori Wakaba, we meet again," he greeted her, his voice musical, his expression unreadable. Dressed all in a black from his military coat and slacks to his shiny shoes which gleamed dully in the half-light, the monochromatic scheme intensified his strange—familiar—eyes. Their color, sapphire hard as chipped ice, would not be subdued by the gray world Sayori had made for herself. They were startling in their bright, cool clarity—reminding her of things better left forgotten.

Suddenly, Sayori felt quite young. She managed to say, "Hello, Aidou. Welcome back," before averting her gaze. Sayori turned back to the driver when she heard him groan from the rear of the vehicle. The pitiable man was valiantly attempting to remove endless pieces of luggage from the truck of the car. "Do you require assistance, Mr. Chauffeur?" she asked in mild concern, the helper alarm beeping softly in her head.

"No, Miss Student. Don't mind me," he smiled, his fangs glinting. Sayori cocked a brow but said nothing.

"Pardon my intrusion, but I think we should make our way the Chairman's office, now. We are running late," interjected Hanabusa blandly.

Sayori peered at him, offput by his subdued manner. "Did something happen to you, Aidou? You don't... seem like yourself." Sayori knew the Night Class' odd hours served a dual purpose. Aside from separating themselves from humans, attending school at night was in only natural. Vampires were nocturnal beings. Perhaps, Hanabusa was too tired to be annoying.

"I'm fine," he answered vaguely, "We should be going; it is cold out here." The excuse seemed rather absurd to Sayori, well aware of Hanabusa's affinity to ice.

Hanabusa turned to his overworked driver, ignoring the man's indistinct gestures to his head. He gave him a significant nod and whispered instruction. Then, Hanabusa stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat, and waited for Sayori wake from her momentarily daze.

Sayori shook her head slightly. "Right," she muttered, walking ahead to lead him to the Chairman's residence. After she closed the gate, Sayori began their march. Instead of following as she had expected, Hanabusa fell into step beside her.

After several moments in awkward silence, Sayori, feeling slightly rude, decided to make conversation.

"Nice hair," Sayori said, eying his rumpled locks with derision.

Hanabusa frowned, feeling around his head. Realizing it was a mess, he cursed colorfully, then looked at Sayori in horror, as if he might have abused her sensibilities by swearing.

Too ease him, she quipped, "It looks like shit to be honest."

Hanabusa appeared unconvinced, but Sayori merely shrugged. "Guess fixing hair isn't one of your superpowers."

"_Superpowers_?" replied Hanabusa as he teased his hair into artful disarray.

Sayori glanced at him doubtfully, "You know what I mean. People like you can do weird things. It's rather disconcerting—sort of… creepy."

"'People like me_._' Vampires, you mean," he qualified sourly.

"Sure… um, Vampires," she grimaced, recent events rippling across her memory, fighting to break into Sayori's gray prison.

"Creepy', huh? Why don't you tell me what you really think..," droned Hanabusa, complete with eye-roll, "A bit harsh for someone as clueless as you."

"Fine, I'm a bigot, and you're a saint," she shrugged. Sayori had no energy to argue; she couldn't find it in herself to care.

"Hard on yourself, too," he admonished, shaking his finger at her—as if _he_ had any kind of authority over her; Sayori nearly laughed.

But she didn't, and they walked on in silence for a few minutes.

Sobering, Hanabusa sighed, "You really don't know anything about us. Why are you so defensive?" When Sayori didn't answer, he stopped walking in the middle of a walkway between the Administration and Mathematics Buildings. His pause so silent and sudden, it took Sayori several seconds to realize he was no longer beside her.

When Sayori did, she turned to find him staring at her, head cocked to the side in contemplation of a lesser life form.

Sayori strode briskly to stand in front of him. She met his stare head-on, or as head-on as she could with the height difference between them.

However, Hanabusa did not quell. Instead, he patted her on the head like a dog.

Sayori flinched as if struck, backing away so quickly she almost fell.

"Human reflexes must suck," Hanabusa laughed. "On the other hand, they _are_ rather amusing."

"Ahh!" she raged, storming away with her hands in the air.

Feigning innocence, he loped to her side, "Did I say something to offend you?" He smiled beatifically.

Sayori made a noncommittal sound and resolved to ignore him.

"Seriously, I was only joking. You're so touchy."

To this, Sayori mimed walking with her gloved fingers. "Instead of talking, let's do this." She marched away without waiting for a response, trying to descend into the apathy she cherished.

"_Sure_," Hanabusa grumbled lamely.

They were still a minute or two from their destination, but Sayori hoped they could reach it without another word passing between them.

"You remind me of someone else I know. She bitchy, too, when she wakes up," said Hanabusa in the cool tone of a weatherman.

Sayori shook her head, attempting to rise above the provocation. 'Only a few steps to go,' she consoled herself.

As they reached the steps to the Chairman's building, Hanabusa laughed softly, asking "Having a bad day, Yori?"

Sayori balked; she blanched, hands itching to slap him. No one called her 'Yori.' No one was allowed to call her 'Yori' anymore. Yuuki and Zero were the only ones—and when they left her nickname died with them. Sayori couldn't stomach the sound of it anymore. "Where do you get off calling me that? You don't even know me well enough to call me Sayori. Never again," she warned, her glare boring holes in the door before her, "Never say that name again. If you do, I'll make your life miserable. I'll oppose you at every turn." Her gold eyes shining with malice, Sayori glared over at him. "I swear it," she promised.

Hanabusa's face became oddly blank.

Dismissing him utterly, she opened the door, her movements rigid. "After you," Sayori ask-ordered .

He stood there dumbly for a second or two, before mumbling a clipped thank you, leading the way inside.

Sayori took a final, stinging gulp of winter air before following. This morning, or maybe her whole life, had been a cruel disappointment, and the future looked bleak.

However, in that frozen landscape, something had changed.

Her scarf was a vibrant red as it danced on the breeze. The sky was a breathtaking blue as the gray clouds of dawn moved westward. Color, the happy, the sad, the beautiful, and the ugly, had returned unbidden to Sayori's world. 'It's those damned eye,' she thought bitterly as she turned to follow their owner inside.

Meanwhile, Hanabusa Aidou fought for self-possession, trying to focus past his apprehension.

Hanabusa had wasted a sizable chuck of his night preparing to meet Sayori Wakaba. By the time the car had reached Cross Academy, Hanabusa dreamt fitfully, wallowing in worst case scenarios. But, nothing—not even his nightmares—had prepared him for this fine Monday morn, strolling along with the most vacant creature in the world.

Hanabusa felt awkward without the comfort of his 'Idol' disguise, and the girl had made it impossible for him to control the flow of conversation.

On their walk, Hanabusa had talked to Sayori for the first time, and he privately thought _not_ talking to Sayori was better choice. She just stood there in her red scarf and earmuffs, mocking him.

And Hanabusa felt disillusioned, almost mad at her for not being the girl he expected—the angel-woman. The way Yuuki had spoken about her, Sayori was supposed to be a hairsbreadth from perfection.

But, all Hanabusa had found was a lost little girl with a forced smile, standing forlorn in the snow.

Their conversation on the way to see the Chairman had been illuminating if nothing else. Her dead expression spoke volumes. The girl was numb and bored, and not above taking it out on everyone around her.

The way she moved, so robotic—the way she spoke, so detached—the way she looked at him, almost blind with indifference: it was near enough to make him shake her. Hanabusa wondered if there was a soul inside her empty shell.

So, the question remained unanswered: Sayori Wakaba was here, but where was Yori?

_Yori_—Hanabusa had forced some life into her eyes when he called her that. Her response was unbelievable.

Resenting the world in general, Hanabusa removed his heavy coat and scarf, hanging them on a hook in the entrance way while Sayori did the same. He brightened slightly, happy to feel the warm, dry air wash over his body. Hanabusa inhaled deeply, sort of hoping the change in temperature would change the atmosphere, too.

'Bad idea,' thought he ruefully. Sayori was standing between him and the flow of warm air from the vent. He could smell her blood as it fed oxygen to her body. Her unique smell, something bright but intangible like a candle against the night sky, was comforting, homey.

Hanabusa recognized the smell as weaker version of the scent of her anger. Outside on the stoop, her essence had poured off her skin as she railed against him, fluctuating wildly as she fought for control. It oscillated between a soft ray of light with no source or object to a bright beacon with no direction or purpose.

It made Hanabusa thirsty. 'Bad thought,' he mentally scolded.

Hanabusa turned expectantly to his dour escort. She was gaping at him in genuine surprise, gazing at him with interest. He hadn't seen her so aware all morning.

"What now?" Hanabusa drawled. He had to build trust from somewhere, but incredulity didn't seem like the best place to start.

With a sense of déjà vue, Hanabusa looked down at himself. "Oh," he answered his own question dully. He was wearing the Day Class uniform. As if he liked it any better than Sayori did. Putting it on on the train, Hanabusa had been torn between crying in disgust and laughing in disbelief.

"You're going attend class _during the day_?" Sayori asked disbelievingly. Clearly, she was of the opinion that nothing could be worse than Hanabusa joining her class. Only his own, more potent dread kept him from teasing her.

"Well, the Night Class has been disbanded so..," trailed Hanabusa. Sayori was allegedly intelligent; she could figure that one out on her own.

Sayori must have realized her mouth was hanging open; she shut it with an audible click. "Right," she muttered.

'Attention Sayori Wakaba, all holidays are permanently canceled and the sun has gone on strike,' thought Hanabusa, his misery loving the company.

"Too bad Yuuki the Prefect isn't here to make sure I mind the rules," said Hanabusa with a wistful smile.

Sayori looked up at him as if he had betrayed her, her wounded expression exposing something painful she had carefully hidden away. She spun away from him an instant later, hiding the 'painful something' from him again.

Hanabusa half frowned, surprised. Before, he had decided Sayori was a vastly different girl from the one everyone believe her to be—that she had managed to fool them into thinking she was a saint—but now he saw her as she really was. Sayori Wakaba, whatever she may be behind the reputation, was dying inside. Yuuki's absence was causing her a great deal of pain—pain that ran much deeper than Hanabusa had realized.

Perhaps, his presence was just the final straw.

Hanabusa followed Sayori down the hall silently. Turning left, feeling guilty for mentioning Yuuki, he wondered how he could "make her feel better" when it was obvious that she despised him keenly.

Her especial dislike was one more snag to overcome. Hanabusa added it to the many flaws he found in this endeavor.

Sayori and Hanabusa stopped in front of the office's mahogany door, and Sayori knocked twice on the frame. "Chairman, I have brought Hanabusa Aidou here with me as you requested," she called.

Hanabusa noticed emotion in her voice, now. It wasn't colorless or sour anymore.

"Come in, come in," replied jovial Chairman Kaien Cross. Hanabusa grimaced in expectation. The man at the helm of Cross Academy was a lunatic.

Sayori opened the door without hesitation and once again gestured for Hanabusa to enter. Her father must have forgotten teach her that a lady always enters a room first. He sighed, entering the claustrophobic office. Hanabusa took a seat without waiting for it to be offered, seeing no need for civilities with a peripheral party.

But the haggard look on the man's face made Hanabusa pause despite himself. He studied the Chairman covertly while Sayori closed the door and joined them.

Kaien Cross looked dreadful, drawn around the edges—exhausted and defeated. The ex-Hunter still wore the same threadbare shawl and unnecessary glasses, but now he had the crippled countenance to match them.

"Chairman Cross, thank you for allowing me to return." Hanabusa inclined his head and waited for someone to speak.

Hanabusa had no idea why he had been called to this meeting, but he could guess. What the Chairman knew of his objectives here, Hanabusa could not say, but judging from the man's resigned expression, Hanabusa was willing to bet that the Chairman knew more about it than he knew himself.

Hanabusa glanced at Sayori, who sat beside him stiffly. She seemed politely interested but not overly expectant. Apparently, she didn't know why they were here, either.

"I'm glad you are so dedicated to my passivism, Aidou. Your admission into the Day Class is a show of solidarity between the Noble Clans and the Hunter's Association. I hope we can rebuild that relationship while you are here," said Cross softly over his stippled fingers

Hanabusa frowned. He expected the Chairman to jump up and down on his chair, singing his praises. The man was usually near tears in gratitude to Juuri Kuran for her inspiration, waxing mawkish over his conviction that coexistence was the cure-all to every societal ill.

But Cross wasn't; he just sat there, regarding Hanabusa quietly.

The drab company was getting on his nerves; he'd settle for hostility over lifelessness. "So, did Kiryuu drag his ass back here, yet?" asked Hanabusa without preamble.

"No, I am afraid he has chosen... a different path," replied Cross, each word slow and rehearsed.

"Which path would that be? The one that leads to my extinction?" huffed Hanabusa.

"Don't answer that, Chairman," interjected Sayori coolly, "He doesn't understand."

Hanabusa barely repressed a scoff. No, Sayori was the one who didn't understand. His hatred was personal; Hanabusa couldn't care less about Zero's Hunter roots.

"No, dear, it's alright. Aidou has a right to feel threatened," replied the Chairman calmly.

That, Hanabusa would not abide. "Threatened? More like incensed! The boy turned an an 'Anti' on his own," he snapped.

"Zero was born a Hunter," reasoned Sayori, "His allegiance is to his family." She said "Zero" like it was something sacred and taxing.

Hanabusa twitched, turning in his chair to face Sayori. She was glaring at him reproachfully.

"I meant Yuuki! He turned his weapon on his own sister," Hanabusa spat. To aim the Bloody Rose at Yuuki, who had defended Zero at her own expense, who had forged a pact let in her own blood to save his sanity—the insult was not to be borne.

The Chairman's face paled to a chalky color, and Sayori's big eyes widened in shock. Apparently, the Chairman had not told her about that little incident.

Sayori swallowed thickly, looking down at her clasped hands. "How-w is Yuuki?" she asked quietly, almost fearfully like she needed Hanabusa to tell her but was afraid of what she might hear.

Hanabusa raised a brow. He glanced at the Chairman, gauging his reaction. "She is happy but sickly of late," he said stiffly. Just as he had expected, Cross did not look surprised. Seiren must have been informed him of Yuuki's condition when she made arrangements for Hanabusa's return.

Sayori stood, almost overturning her chair, seizing everyone's attention. Nearly grabbing Hanabusa by the collar before she remembered herself, Sayori fretted, "Sickly? How sick?" Her eyes were alive for the first time, demanding in wakefulness, her presence suffocating him.

Then Hanabusa blinked, and the moment ended.

"Not in the way you are thinking. Microbial infection or cell mutation does not affect our species," replied Hanabusa vaguely.

"Don't mess with me! I won't play games with _you_," growled Sayori as she stalked closer to his chair. Sayori was quite serious—he could smell it—like she somehow possessed the power to rip the answers from him.

Hanabusa eyed the Chairman in disbelief, but the ex-Hunter only shrugged, returning his attention to the furious girl in front of his desk.

Hanabusa clarified truthfully, "We can suffer from psychological ailments that propagate in our blood. Usually, some imbalance or unmet desire thins the blood, turns it to poison within the body." He swallowed his disquiet; this was not a topic he wanted to discuss.

"You unforgivable liar, you said she was happy! If Yuuki was happy, she wouldn't be sick," fumed Sayori. She glared fiercely at the Chairman as if he had deceived her as well.

Watching the weakest person in the room rage was amusing in a twisted way.

The Chairman lifted his hands in surrender but shot a reflective glare at Hanabusa like this was his fault. Cross tried to placate her, "Now, Sayori, there is nothing we can do. I'm sure everything will work itself out naturally." He removed his glasses and began to clean them with his wrap.

"But, Yuuki is hurting. For whatever reason, _you_ trust these Vampires, so you should go help or, at least, to see how sick Yuuki is. Surely, you should do something, Chairman. She's still your daughter," whittled Sayori plaintively, low even by Hanabusa's sub-standards.

The Chairman was peered at Hanabusa over Sayori's shoulder, silently asking for assistance. Hanabusa quoted, "'Don't answer that, Chairman. She 'doesn't understand,'" exaggerating Sayori's soft pitch.

"Don't _you people _have doctors?" huffed Sayori, leaning over to glower at him, her little hands balled into fists. Her red-ish hair flipped about, fanning her warm scent under his nose. Hanabusa ignored the stir of bloodlust, but he could not ignore the way Sayori's scent intensified with her rising pique. No longer a candle in darkness, her blood razed like a miniature sun, the suggestion of daylight spilling from her skin.

Sayori Wakaba was a different person from the girl standing at the gate earlier. Perhaps, _Yori _was really in there somewhere.

Hanabusa turned to the wall to escape the smell. "No," he quipped, "But we endorse blood transfusion."

Cross chuckled weakly, but Sayori did not. She wriggled into the space between Hanabusa and the wall so she could face him. The Chairman tried to object, but she made a growling noise to stay him.

Sayori would not be deterred.

She took a deep breath, shutting her eyes tight. When Sayori opened them, she let everything show. Her rage disappeared. All at once, there was only pain. Unmitigated and beseeching, her gold eyes pleaded for answers, for relief, for someone to save her. Her haunted stare so eloquently spoke the words her wrath could not: Help Me.

Even under the thumb of great despair, Sayori did not yield. She stood upright, eyes dry.

Sayori would not be denied.

"I..," Hanabusa started, his voice insubstantial in his own ears, captured in her.

Sayori did not move or speak, but Hanabusa could feel her insistence reaching out, trying to bind him. It was disconcerting—something he had never felt from a human.

Hanabusa broke their stare off to study his shoes. Impulsively, he reached for Cross in the In-Between, disregarding Kaname's rules without a thought. _'What can I tell her?'_

The Chairman's aura was sorrowful but resolute. _'Nothing.'_

The echo of Cross's regret merged with Hanabusa's, but neither could say anything because it was forbidden.

Hanabusa pulled away from the In-Between, feeling very alone. "I don't... I don't know what to say," said Hanabusa lamely. Admitting ignorance stung, but watching Sayori replace her mask of indifference stung worse. Before she managed it, however, Hanabusa saw realization flit across her face; Sayori knew he was hiding something from her, and she hated him bitterly for it. Oddly enough, that stung the worst.

Sayori reclaimed her chair and fisted her hands in her skirt. "I told you something was wrong. I knew something was terribly wrong with Yuuki," she whispered to the Chairman.

Regrouping, Hanabusa saw an opening he could manipulate to his advantage. "Well, Wakaba, because you seem so disturbed by this news, I must ask. Why don't you go to Yuuki yourself?" Hanabusa marveled, asking himself if it could be this easy. Too easy.

Sayori paled, her hands trembling, her face falling dramatically. "I…" she began. Fear—that fear which lived on the fringes of her consciousness—arrested her. Not fear of Vampires. Such a mundane anxiety would not prevent Sayori from going to her friend in a time of need. No this fear ran deeper; the shadow in her confused nightmares in those precious few hours when sleep claimed her. Sayori's fear felt like an insidious pull, a noose dragging her to a fate far more cruel then her emotionless cage. "I can't," she mummbled, head bowed in shame.

Hanabusa's eyes widened. Sayori's bright smell recoiled—reduced to a firefly in Night, insubstantial and pitiful. He observed her through narrowed eyes, perplexed. Vampires, he thought, must frighten her far more than he had originally believed. Disappointed, resentful, and inexplicably wounded, Hanabusa turned away, sighing as if in boredom. Sayori relied Cross's intervention exclusively, unwilling to face her fear. She cared deeply for Yuuki but apparently not enough.

But Kaname's instructions were explicit: Sayori Wakaba would to come to them alone and of her own free will. Soon, Hanabusa would have to confront and then dispel her irrational trepidation.

"And as I told you before, dear, Yuuki is in excellent, capable hands," assured the Chairman with a sad smile, cleaning his silly glasses yet again.

Hanabusa was troubled. There was only one way Sayori could have known Yuuki was ill, but it was impossible. And yet, there_ was_ only one way.

Sayori was so convinced something was wrong with Yuuki that she had broached the subject with the Chairman. Sayori's insistence mirrored Yuuki's mysterious assertion that Sayori was lonely.

With the reluctance of a believer questioning the existence of god, Hanabusa wondered if Sayori could reach Yuuki's soul in the In-Between.

Nobles and Hunters shared somewhat empathetic connections, trading thoughts and feelings in the In-Between, but he had never heard of a human empath before. And Hanabusa would know because he was a Shield, easily blocking all but the most formidable minds, sharing only by choice. Kain always said his talent was the result of his own discomfort. Hanabusa despised the intrusive nature of the In-Between, only venturing there when he had no other option. The only person Hanabusa allowed access was his cousin, sharing snippets of his consciousness willingly, but even with Kain, Hanabusa gave little.

Hanabusa looked to Cross for answers to his unspoken questions, but the man was regarding Sayori too closely to notice, his mind sealed behind steel walls. Hanabusa had no choice but to drop the topic, filing this sub-categorical curiosity under 'worthy of future study.'

"Sayori, you have to be strong. You're a prefect now, and I have a very important job for you," said the Chairman. His voice was calming and steady.

"A prefect?" inquired Hanabusa with surprise. He hadn't read that in her file.

"Yes, Sayori was made prefect one week ago. She has been liaising between the Hunter—who is posted here a student in much the same way as you are—and I," explained the Chairman in that same soothing manner.

"I am already aware that there are several Hunters here," replied Hanabusa absently.

He wasn't buying that line for a minute. Cross and Seiren had devised this ploy to bring Hanabusa and Sayori in close contact, not that he was going to complain about it. Hanabusa realized that he should be grateful, but now that he knew Sayori, he couldn't decide how he felt about her near-constant companionship.

"How _are_ we going to handle my little abnormality?" asked Hanabusa smirking. Playing with his admirers would be much more fun because they knew he was Vampire, now.

"In much the same manner as before," explained the Chairman, "It's still a secret. They don't remember."

"But, they said... and Wakaba knows," complained Hanabusa, projecting his incomprehension verbally. He felt profoundly betrayed but couldn't put into words why he felt so.

"I am sorry, Aidou. I argued against the action, but the Hunter's Association would not be dissuaded. A full modification was executed after the Night Class was officially disbanded," explained the Chairman sheepishly. Then he removed his useless glasses and started cleaning them again—an unimaginative evasive ploy.

Sayori broke her stony silence, muttering darkly, "They weren't very thorough."

Hanabusa rolled his eyes, frustration eroding his patience. "What are _you_ bitching about now?"

The Chairman coughed disapprovingly, neither liking Hanabusa's language nor his tone, but Sayori, it seemed, could not have cared less. Instead, she rose to the provocation with eager spite. "Oh, they still remember _you_! They're still pining away like abandoned puppies. They don't remember anything that happened the day the Night Class left. If I have to endure one more vigil outside the Moon Dorm, my brain will decay. I might kill myself just to escape the monotonous prattle," she spat, "Why couldn't they erase you completely?"

Sayori directed her question to Hanabusa but addressed the Chairman. Apparently, Hanabusa was worthy of blame but not recognition.

"_Excuse me?_" rejoined Hanabusa. Maybe Ruka had left her real personality in Sayori Wakaba's body; as Hanabusa had said this morning, the girl reminded him of his cousin's biting temper.

"Did I stutter?" Sayori replied resentfully.

Anticipating all out war, the Chairman mustered up some of his former cheer to steer the conversation away from that explosive vein. "You heard correctly, Aidou. Evening vigils," listed the Chairman with stars in his eyes, "support groups, reenactments, pickets, and marches," his trademark goofy grin plastered on his face.

The very idea—a bunch of irrelevant humans protesting his absence when the only one who mattered wished he would disappear! Ill begotten mirth bubbled in his belly. Before he could suppress it, Hanabusa was laughing out loud. "Kain's is going to love that," Hanabusa laughed so hard his side ached.

"It isn't funny!" Sayori exclaimed, but that just made Hanabusa laugh harder. If she could understand the irony, then she might have laughed, too.

Then, the Chairman started chuckling as well. Soon, both men were incoherent, roaring with glee.

Sayori huffed in consternation, chin in palm. "Fine, maybe it is a little funny. Pathetic and ridiculous, but maybe… a little funny, too," sniffed Sayori begrudgingly. Then, she grinned at the Chairman indulgently, clearly finding pleasure in his happiness.

Sayori Wakaba was a new person all over again when she really smiled, and Hanabusa was back at square one, trying to figure out who she really was.

"Hey, Wakaba, how did you manage to skip out on the brainwashing?" Hanabusa asked between dying chuckles.

She glanced at the Chairman warily, looking for some sign of permission, and Hanabusa watched as the ex-Hunter nodded encouragingly. "I didn't." said Sayori simply with a small shrug.

"I do not understand," he said, articulating each word precisely so he would sound condescending rather than confused. He was, however, very confused. Hanabusa raised a brow in Cross's direction.

"Sayori has an unprecedented gift," explained the Chairman, beaming with pride, "She is immune to mental manipulation; invasion, deletion, and replacement."

Even as a Shield, Hanabusa was not immune to mental tampering; any Pureblood or Prime Hunter could breach his mind with little effort. "Are you completely sure?" he asked, "A _human_ Shield? Or does her immunity exceed those limitations? Has she been tried by a Prime?" Hanabusa glanced at Cross dubiously, "Have _you_ tried?"

Like a mad scientist puzzling over an inconsistency in the data, Hanabusa studied Sayori's form shrewdly, pressing against the barrier of her mind. Just as Cross had said, the walls around her consciousness were impenetrable. Bright to blinding, Hanabusa could glean nothing beyond their glare.

"No, I have not" smiled the Chairman, his fondness for Sayori warming his gray eyes, "However, even the strongest Hunter techniques have absolutely no effect. She just stands there looking rather bored and mutinous."

Hanabusa considered this matter of the utmost importance. The Prime methods of mental suggestion were effective on all humans and most Hunters and Vampires. To his knowledge, no one like Sayori could exist.

Ignoring the incomprehensible babbling about "Shields," "Purebloods," and "Primes," Sayori said, "I can't explain it either." Her gaze was guarded, but she seemed honest.

"Is she tainted?" wondered Hanabusa aloud.

Sayori grumbled indignantly while the Chairman rolled his eyes like the answer was blatantly obvious.

"I assure you I am totally serious in asking. To overcome Hunter magic without outside protection or blood contamination is impossible. I can only infer that you are defective in some way," said Hanabusa defensively.

Sayori inclined her head toward Hanabusa, scooting towards him on the edge of her chair. "Do you always say cruel things to hide your ignorance?" she whispered conspiratorially like they were sharing a private joke.

Too stunned to speak on his own behalf, the Chairman spoke for him. "Sayori, that was unkind."

"Unkind but true, I think," Sayori replied, somehow saddened but unapologetic nonetheless.

Disconcerted by her frankness, Hanabusa did what he did best; he plastered a smirk onto his unwilling face. "I'll ignore your impertinence for now, _Yori_/" He winked.

The Chairman winced, knowing how much she hated her nickname. Sayori scowled contemptuously but said nothing.

"If you're going to be following me around, I suppose we should get to know each other a little better. Since you think you have me all figured out, why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" Hanabusa grinned, "Come on, Yori. What's your favorite color?"

She bristled, "I have no idea why you would ask me that, but it'll be a cold day in hell before I tell you." She glared at the wall above the Chairman's desk, folding her arms across her chest.

"Hmn," Hanabusa replied thoughtfully, "_I _can make it cold in hell."

"I'm already in hell!" she snapped.

Their sparring match ending in a stalemate, a charged silence consumed the office. "Well, there you have it, Aidou," concluded Cross stupidly.

"Chairman, my new responsibilities?" prompted Sayori, clearly eager to leave.

"Right," nodded the ex-Hunter, "Well, Aidou will be joining your class, Sayori." This information did little to brighten Hanabusa's mood.

"But that's ludicrous," objected Sayori. So, she didn't want him in her class—afraid of the big, bad Vampire. That, at least, was logical.

"He is far beyond my class's work level. He could probably sit the exit exam for the academy today, and be done with it. Why not place him in the senior class?" continued Sayori with passion.

Hanabusa eyed her suspiciously, unwilling to admit his misgivings mirrored hers. He had not expected that from her. He wondered if Sayori thought he would attack his classmates in fit of extreme boredom. Hanabusa sat back brooding, content to let Sayori argue his case.

"Now, now, dear, we want Aidou to have a full experience, don't we? If he starts in your class, he can observe and interact with a group of young humans and watch them develop and mature," explained the Chairman, cleaning his twice-damned glasses again. Someone should really tell him about his nervous tick.

For her part, Sayori merely scoffed. "Then, why not let he join the kindergarten class?"

Hanabusa had to yawn to cover his grin. Delighted, Hanabusa waited for the Chairman squirm his way out of her airtight logic.

There was a pregnant pause in which everyone thought private thoughts, until Sayori started muttering inaudibly again.

"Pardon," asked Hanabusa curiously.

"I was just thinking that you aren't here to observe human behavior. You must be here to protect the school or lookout for anything suspicious," reasoned Sayori, tapping her finger against her upper lip, her unseeing eyes studying the floor beneath her feet. So engrossed in her thoughts, Sayori forgot she wasn't speaking to him.

Secretly impressed, Hanabusa lied, "Yes, I was ordered here by Kaname to protect the students and faculty of Cross Academy." He would have to be careful around Sayori; she was perceptive—maybe too perceptive.

"Which begs the question, why my class?" Sayori turned away from the floor, glaring at him, accusation and suspicion evident in every feature.

"So, I can protect you, Little Yori." Hanabusa smiled crookedly. It was true—perhaps, the only true thing he would ever tell Sayori—and he let his genuine desire to stay by her side bleed into his eyes.

Sayori bit her lip, frowning helplessly.

"Sayori, you will be Aidou's personal guardian while he is with us. You will make sure the other girls and boys maintain a healthy distance from him," Cross heaved a monstrous sigh before continuing, "and keep he and Solo from killing each other."

"You aren't joking. You're actually asking me to spend all my time following _this,_" Sayori exclaimed, pointing at Hanabusa without looking at him, "around. Do _I _get a bodyguard to protect me from jealous classmates? As for, Solo Yagari—don't ask for the impossible. I'd hate to disappoint." Her sarcasm had bite.

Hanabusa observed the exchange with equanimity. His fan club was an acknowledged horror, but he didn't know this Solo person.

"Don't worry, dear. I will help you. You won't need protection because you will both be living in the guest quarters of my residence," cooed Cross, the ex-Hunter all smiles, "I will take you into my bosom, and make you all great friends."

Hanabusa gagged. Secretly, living in close proximity to Sayori intimidated him. He would have her all to himself for hours at a time, maybe offer to do homework with her or something equally revolting, but she _hated_ him. Hanabusa had not forgotten her threat; he had called her 'Yori' three times already. Sayori could make his life hell, and he'd have no escape if he lived with her.

"But, Yagari already lives here," Sayori sputtered, swiping a hand through her auburn hair, pulling at the ends in agitation. Her delicate brows wrinkled in a frown.

Hanabusa was not surprised; he knew Sayori would be against the idea.

"The more, the merrier! Come to Daddy!" exclaimed Chairman Cross. He stood up from behind the desk and made to embrace the room at large.

Hanabusa was fucked—living with _that_ and the scorching glower from the girl next to him would surely drive him mad.

As he left the room several mortifying minutes later, Hanabusa had wonder why Kaname hated him so much.

* * *

**Relevant Information Corner: **If you are thinking "Wow, Yori is OCness." I assure you the reason will become plain as day soon enough. I've already hinted at the reason a bit.

No previews this go round, guys. Sorry (sincere not sarcastic).

Some of you may be wondering why Yori is mentioned by her full name. I explain: Most of the preceding action has been from Hanabusa's perceptive—he does not think of her as "Yori" (yet). As for Yori herself, it's a matter of disassociation. She does not want to be reminded of the past.

Gushy goodbye, Mare

R&R


End file.
